The Subtle Knife
by Ociwen
Summary: When Draco receives a mysterious dagger from his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat itself? (HD) Chapter eleven...at long last!
1. Into Thy Hands

Title: The Subtle Knife (1/21)  
  
Author: Ociwen  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
  
Summary: When Draco receives a mysterious dagger from his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat itself? (H/D)  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
The title comes from Philip Pullman's third book in his Dark Materials trilogy. I read the first one years ago but having been meaning to read the others for some great while. Alas.  
  
Chapter 1: Into Thy Hands  
  
  
  
The pale man turned in the direction of his son, who appeared to share the same aristocratically pointed features and cold gray eyes. "Hurry up, Draco." He drawled, glancing at his silver wristwatch, although perfectly aware of the time. "The Portkey is set to leave in eight minutes."  
  
The boy, a younger, slightly softer version of his father, stalked up to the older man and rolled his eyes dramatically. As if he didn't already know when the Portkey was set for. He hated when his father treated him as though he were an ignorant child. "Where's Mother?" he asked, picking absently at a hangnail on his left hand. "I would like to say goodbye to her."  
  
A group of struggling house-elves pushed a large dark lacquered trunk with the untarnished silver-embossed initials DLM into the drawing room that already contained two of the Malfoy family. It scraped along the midnight sky marble floor that etched out the midnight sky, complete with constellations of the winter sky over England, with an inconsistent grating.  
  
"Mind what you're doing!" A woman snapped from behind the elves. "You're getting marks all over my floors, you stupid ugly fools!"  
  
Draco smirked to himself. That would be Mother coming along.  
  
The house-elves cowered behind an antique Louis XIV ottoman, heads hung in shame, as a scowling blonde woman swept into the room in fine lavender robes. "Go shut your ears in the stove." She barked, her visage darkening. "I don't want to look at any of you."  
  
The disgraced house-elves fled in a flurry of bony bodies jumbling together.  
  
Narcissa turned to her son and her features softened, lighting up as she held open her arms expectantly for a hug. Draco didn't move from his stance, so his mother moved and pulled him tightly into her embrace, almost savagely. He squirmed uncomfortably.  
  
"Mother," he said, perturbed and breathless from her squeeze, "I'm sixteen now."  
  
She sighed. To her, he would always be her little boy; her only son. "I know," Narcissa smiled wistfully at the memory of the little child that was no more. "All grown up now..." she added softly to herself.  
  
Lucius Malfoy flicked his eyes over the hands on his watch a second time, the tiny planets moving around it in orbit. "Five minutes." He looked over to his son, gray eyes scrutinizing, who was having his mother pin his silver prefect badge to his crisp tailored shirt. "Do you have everything you need?"  
  
The boy nodded. "Of course," he drawled arrogantly, reminiscent of his father. "I'm not some stupid Longbottom who needs his gran to send him his underwear a week later." He mocked in a falsetto voice.  
  
A cruel grin crept across the elder Malfoy's face, as if in remembrance of the current whereabouts of the Longbottom boy's parents- St.Mungo's insanity ward, out of their minds, frothing at the mouth and belted into hard beds for the remainder of their existence.  
  
Draco sometimes wondered if his father had been one of the Death Eaters to use the Cruciatus curse on them, but he had never voiced these suspicions. He smirked back regardless.  
  
"That is why you are a prefect and he is not, Draco." His mother piped in, ostensibly happy as she polished off an invisible speck of dust from the 'P' badge with an heirloom Irish lace cloth that had been casually lying on an ivory side table.  
  
Lucius scowled, opened his mouth to reply, but settled on sneering instead. "Wait here." He disappeared into a secret passageway behind a life-size painting of Augustus Malfoy III (deceased) which glowered back at Draco as he watched his father's robes billowing behind him in his descent down the spiraling stairs to one of the many secret chambers in the manor.  
  
"Watch yourself this year, boy." The painting glared slate eyes at him, and fingered the silver-furred ferret that was slung over his velvet-clad shoulder. "I sense that there are things to come."  
  
Draco turned his back to the painting. Augustus Malfoy III was constantly spouting out nonsense- that so-and-so would die horribly in a freak potions accident, that his father would become deathly ill from eating an orange laced with monkshood, that his mother would fall under a fainting spell and perish slowly over the course of thirty-three and a-third months. This might have explained why he had been killed in a wizard's duel at the age of forty-one. He was as reliable as Professor Trelawney.  
  
Not that Draco actually took Divination, but he had overheard enough from the Weasel and Potter during the countless hours he had spent spying on them in his years at Hogwarts.  
  
His father returned to the drawing room with a flourish, slamming the portrait door with a reverberant banging that nearly shook Augustus Malfoy III from his holdings. He glared at both Draco and his father with disdain.  
  
Lucius had a small package in his hands wrapped in thin green tissue, bound in a silver cording. "Do not open this until you reach someplace private, Draco. Consider it motivation for Head Boy status next year." Lucius gave the gift to his son, who hastily pushed it into the largest compartment of his small leather carryon bag. "And Draco," his father raised a pale eyebrow, "make sure you don't use it yourself. Pass it on to someone less," he paused for a moment, considering, "fortunate." He waved a finger in a slight zigzagging pattern.  
  
Potter.  
  
Draco smiled obediently, as was expected of him. "Yes, father."  
  
Narcissa looked forlorn, pouting slightly with concentration, her brow wrinkling slightly. "Oh, I almost forgot-" She smiled at her son. "Nobby!" She shrieked into the direction of the kitchens, abandoning all poise. "Get Draco's treats for him, now!"  
  
One of the multitudes of house-elves 'employed' under the Malfoy family could be heard yelping in the background. A heavy metal door slammed before it ran out and apprehensively handed Narcissa the sharply creased brown parchment package.  
  
Narcissa then brushed off the package absently and handed it to Draco, kissing him on the cheek as she did so. She ignored his blatantly obvious wince. He wiped off the fuchsia lip imprint with a sleeve.  
  
"I cannot have you starving at school, dear." She winked, brushing aside a single strand of his hair that had fallen over his eye.  
  
Ugh. How old did she think he was? Using epithets like that.  
  
"Don't eat them all on the train, love," she warned with a small smile. "And don't bite your nails, either.  
  
Draco chose to ignore the last comment.  
  
But his Father didn't. "God only knows what drabble they feed the students at that school, that he has to resort to biting off his nails-"  
  
"Finger nails, Father," Draco corrected, his voice dripping slightly with sarcasm. "Not my toes or any other nail."  
  
"I would advise you not to patronize me, Draco." His father hissed, irritated, his hand raised slightly as if to strike his son. Instead Lucius just sneered, drumming his long fingers on a Tudor-style oak table. "That headmaster is so full of rubbish and sympathies with Mudbloods," he spat, "he'd likely feed them Muggle food. Utter trash, it is. Poison."  
  
Draco felt a cheerful, "Yes, sir," would be appropriate.  
  
His father shot him a glare. Watch your cheek, boy, or you will be reprimanded.  
  
Narcissa frowned and turned back to her son instantly. "Have a good year at school, Draco." She wiped a moist tear from her left eye for show. "I shall see you at Christmas!" She perked herself up immediately with this and gave the silver badge a final polish.  
  
Draco's father smirked. "Try to do something worthy of the Malfoy name." For once. "Don't let that foul Mudblood best you in any class. That is disgusting and you should be ashamed of your performance last year."  
  
Draco opened his mouth to speak.\par  
  
"And think of when you would like to get your Mark," His father said openly, smiling slightly.  
  
Draco pursed his lips in frustration. His father was purposely cutting him off. Draco was never rude enough to do that to him.  
  
His father carried on regardless. "That day should be special for you. Perhaps next July." It was an answer, not a question.  
  
Narcissa frowned again, her nose wrinkling in distaste, but then realized the implications of the matter and her role. "I will throw you a party," she said brightly. "And you can invite all your friends, Draco." She clapped her hands together enthusiastically and beamed at her husband, who rolled his eyes. "We can invite the Goyles and the Crabbes and the Parkinsons, of course. Their daughter is so charming."  
  
"Two minutes. All ready?" Lucius asked his son, toeing the heavy chest over to touch the gaudy thirteenth century magenta Assyrian-Zoroastrian fusion rug with the copper fringe that lay slapdash and looking altogether out-of- place in the center of the polished floor.  
  
Narcissa continued to count guests off on her fingers. "- and the Nott boy and his mother- pity what happened to his father. It must have been so difficult not to have one growing up. It would be a shame if anything had happened to your father." She sighed emphatically. "Oh! The DeMents.and the Weirs, I think their daughter is a couple years older than you are Draco.and the Stuarts.the Vaughns. Are you friends with the Perks' girl?  
  
Draco was studying the ceiling frescoes depicting various tortures in Hell intently, including his favorite of Beelzebub with an artful branding iron. "No, Mother. She's a Hufflepuff."  
  
"Oh, pity that. I could imagine her parents were none too pleased about that. Well, what about the-"  
  
Lucius cleared his throat loudly, none too pleased with his wife. "Are you quite done, Narcissa?" he snapped. "Draco has places to go as opposed to spending all day listening to your banter.  
  
Narcissa stopped her chatter abruptly. "I suppose it's time you are off, then?" she offered meekly.  
  
Draco bent down to touch the rug, treat package securely wedged under his arm. He nodded curtly. "Yes, Mother." He had waited only a moment before the familiar jerk at his navel hit him and pulled him through the intricate magical network of the Portkey system. Draco could feel his trunk digging into his side uncomfortably and his mother's voice echoing in the distance desperately.  
  
"Do you have your Occulus potion? I don't believe you can buy it in Hogsmeade. Your Caring About Magical Freaks book? Did your father tie it up for you, like you had asked? Last-" Her voice faded.  
  
Unlike the golden Boy-Who-Lived, the apple of the eye of the Wizarding world, Draco had been using Portkeys longer than he had been able to walk, or even hold a wand, for that matter, his father's wand, granted, but nonetheless still a wand. He, especially since he was a much more graceful person, did not end up in a tangled heap on Platform nine and three- quarters. The Malfoy family- well, his father really- owned a personal Portkey to the train station from the comfort of Malfoy Manor. It had been in the family since Nero Malfoy had first used it in 1862 (having stolen it from a Gryffindor at Hogwarts the previous year). Draco could remember his distraught mother in his first year when she thought that Lucius had lost the Portkey and Draco would have had to actually walk through the Muggle train station to get to the platform.  
  
It turned out that the house elves had taken the rug out of one of the storage rooms in the attic to beat the dust out of it, but ended up having to call an exterminator for an infestation of dust rabbits that had gnawed through Narcissa's collection of priceless sixteenth century Portuguese lounge robes. The house-elves were thoroughly reprimanded for their foolishness soon thereafter.  
  
Draco landed perfectly composed, on two feet, at the platform, with his trunk beside him neatly at the platform without a strand of platinum hair out of place. He smirked smugly to himself and began to walk down the platform that ran along adjacent to the galvanized scarlet train engine, pulling his trunk behind himself with the magical tow cord and wheels that popped out on his command.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were lurching, in direct contrast, overhead of Pansy Parkinson's short and (rather) scrawny frame halfway up the length of the train. Draco felt his mouth curl up in a sneer. It seemed that they had both grown taller (and wider) again over the summer. He was doomed to be interminably dwarfed by their Goliath frames. If only he could grow another inch, or three, even. Potter was likely taller than him by now. He nodded curtly to them, to at least acknowledge their existence, and they grunted an affirmative reply. He could also hear Pansy screeched out his name in glee as he continued to walk by, dodging an increasing number of smaller (and stupider) schoolmates.  
  
He would have time for her later.  
  
Oomph!  
  
Draco collided straight into what he assumed was a sniveling first year.  
  
No, they had walked into him.  
  
Reddened eyes and a dripping nose looked up at him and the runt snuffled more, wiping its nose on a hanging sleeve. "Sorry," it mumbled grumpily. "Watch where you're going."  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes as it had disappeared into a crowd of students, trampling each other as they pushed onto the train.  
  
"Too many bloody fucking first years." He grumbled, and then shot back: "Respect your elders." His Malfoyness alone was not keeping them fearful and in line.  
  
Filthy Mudbloods, the lot of them.  
  
He puffed out his chest, but doubted they had the intelligence to recognize a prefect when they saw one. Draco's silver badge glinted and his chin was held pompously high. "Out of the way!" He said loudly. "Prefect going through." He sneered with relish.  
  
Well, if it wasn't his obvious attempts to display his authority that dispersed another large clump of credulous first years, it must have been his sneer.  
  
I can sneer well. Learned from the best.  
  
Draco climbed about the first train carriage at the forward end of the engine, reserved specifically for prefects, and hauled his trunk aboard using a weightlessness charm.  
  
"Mmm...Draco..." A sensuous, low voice stepped into view as he boarded. Blaise Zabini. The infamous (albeit exclusive) slut of Slytherin.  
  
Draco licked his lips unconsciously. They were chapped.  
  
She ran a pink tongue over full coral lips and a hand through glossy blue- black hair. Her eyes trailed along his body slowly, up, then down as she customarily did every time they seemed to meet.  
  
"I've saved us a compartment." She grinned, flashing him a blinding white smile.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow up. "Oh?"  
  
The grin (which was very much like a smirk) widened and he snorted in approval, trying not to appear too pleased. Draco followed the girl into an empty compartment, decorated tastefully to Slytherin standards- black leather, that squashed down stiffly when one sat. Blaise sat down close beside Draco, her skirt riding seductively up well past her mid-thigh as she did so.  
  
The train engine was heard to be whistling furiously in the background and the scramble of feet outside in the corridor increased its fervor. The train jerked and Blaise was shifted a little closer to Draco, who found his eyes naturally drawn to the skirt riding up even further, past the top of her pantyhose and her garter.  
  
Blaise smiled and closed here eyes, short, blue-tinted eyelashes fluttering. She trailed an absent forefinger along his inside thigh and Draco tried not to shudder visibly. "I haven't seen you since, what- early July?" She traced a feathering circle with her fingertips.  
  
Draco nodded slowly. Very carefully.  
  
Focus.  
  
Focus.  
  
Blaise doesn't go for... He felt his breathing grow ever so slightly faster and rougher.  
  
"We should..." She paused for a moment, searching for a word. Electric blue eyes meeting gold-flecked gray. "catch up? When we get back to school, of course." She leaned into his, her hot breath causing the fine hairs to rise. "Don't you think so, Draco?" She murmured, her hand crawling slowly up his thigh.  
  
"I thought you only went for older men." Draco choked before trying his voice again. "Much older men."  
  
Blaise cocked her head closer to him, and pushed her lower lip out seductively. "But now they've all graduated. And no one in seventh year is particularly good looking this year."  
  
Draco smirked at the indirect complement. "True."  
  
"I have to set my standards a little lower." Blaise explained, as she toyed with a strand of Draco's hair.  
  
This in itself bothered him. No one, not even Pansy, was allowed to touch his hair. (Except for his mother.)  
  
Draco pushed her away roughly. "A Malfoy is substandard to no one," he hissed.  
  
Just then, the door swung open and hit the wall of the far side of the compartment. "Here's one, Gin!" Some squeaky boy called out into the train corridor before stepping inside the compartment and taking a seat across from Draco. He, too, had a prefect's badge buttoned to his shirt, lopsided, however, in addition to a Muggle camera hanging from his neck. He had rather dull brown hair and a rat-like appearance to him. Well, maybe more mouse-like, especially because he was short and runt-sized.  
  
Draco's hand immediately curled around the teak wand in his pocket. It was tempting to give the boy a pair of mouse whiskers to match. They would look better than the almost-visible peach fuzz that covered much of his face.  
  
But...  
  
Something held him back, strangely, though Draco wanted to very much. Especially to wipe the silly smile from the boy's face. The kid was positively glowing, clearly happy to be returning to school and as a prefect no less. Ah, Draco could sympathize with that. The power a prefect wielded...he'd been able to give Weasley twice the number of detentions last year...it was a drug in itself...  
  
As quickly as the first intruder came in and sat down, a second did as well, in a blur of ginger and freckles. "There you are, Colin! I thought you were in the last compartment," she said happily as she sat down at his side.  
  
Draco groaned as he recognized the other person. "What the hell are you doing here, Weasley girl?" he snarled at her. "This train car is reserved specifically for prefects." He tapped his silver badge.  
  
She glared back at him, brown eyes blazing and cheeks flushing scarlet. "If you hadn't realized, lack-brain, I am a prefect." She pulled out a silver badge from her baggy pant pocket (a hand-me-down from an older brother, Draco assumed) and pinned it to her chest, upside-down. "So. There."  
  
His scowl grew and he glared back at her. Sodding bitch. Neither backed down (Draco's eyes were drier than deserts), and the contest lasted a long moment.  
  
"I'm leaving, then." Blaise stood up, pouting and pulling her skirt back down. "I don't share compartments with Muggle-lovers or disgusting Weasleys," she spat, turning to Draco who was still glaring. "I'd rather sit with Millicent."  
  
Draco snapped away from the contest. No! He pleaded silently, unwilling to actually beg Blaise to stay. Don't leave me here with them! But instead he said sullenly, "Fine. I'll make them miserable all by myself."  
  
Blaise stomped out, black hair fluttering behind her, and hips swiveling effortlessly from side-to-side.  
  
"What the fuck did you have to sit here for?" The Slytherin cursed at the two Gryffindors. God, he did not want to spend all afternoon on the train anywhere near them, though the new opportunity to torment them held its ideals aloft. He was not in the mood to tease the younger prefects, he wanted to bother Potter, plus, Blaise had left him in what could have progressed into a perfectly good snog session, provided Pansy did not become aware of it. "Where's Potter anyway, shouldn't you be sitting with him?"  
  
"He and Hermione were sitting with Ron," the Weasley girl glowered. "This compartment had room, Malfoy."  
  
The 'Colin' kid continued to have the silly grin plastered all over his rodent face. "Would it trouble you at all to ask for a...a-," he asked Draco timidly, holding up his camera. "Harry says you-"  
  
"Fuck you." Was his reply to the Weasley girl, and he turned to the rat- faced boy. "Ask me for a picture and I'll make sure to notify a really close acquaintance of my father's, Mudblood. He could make life very interesting for you."  
  
The boy's face fell, but the girl was incensed, the carrot-coloured hair above her ears curling in anger. "Don't you dare threaten my friend ever with your Death Eater shit, Malfoy! He's a better wizard than you'll ever be," she said carefully through clenched teeth.  
  
"Hardly," Draco smirked. "Besides, I didn't mention You-Know-Who at all. Look who's jumping to conclusions. Not I." He was undaunted by the short and fiery redhead who wore clothes much too large for her. Her trousers were bunched up around her ankles and her sleeves hung halfway over her clenched hand. "Are you going to send one of your brothers after me? God knows you've got enough to spare. I'm so scared." His smirk spread.  
  
The Weasley girl dived across the compartment at Draco, but the mouse-boy grabbed her shirt and pulled her back. "Just leave it Gin," he squeaked, "he's only trying to work you up."  
  
"That's right, he's not worth it." Harry Potter stood in the doorway, hands on his hips.  
  
Lording over everyone with his infinite and universal wisdom and Gryffindor goodness.  
  
"Well, if it isn't my most favorite person," Draco said softly, but no one appeared to be listening. He scowled at this.  
  
"Harry!" The girl launched herself at Potter for an overdue hug. The Rat snapped pictures frantically of the Boy-Who-Lived, who looked generally uncomfortable with the attention.  
  
Draco noted that Potter returned the Weasley girl's hug tiredly. He smirked to himself with this knowledge. The Weasley girl clearly did not notice; she was latched on to Potter like a leech. Unrequited love much? The girl was yet another of Potter's pathetic groupies that trailed behind him like obedient puppies and mooned over his frequent Daily Prophet exposés.  
  
Potter must have seen his smirk because he frowned in Draco's general direction, hair messed up and looking downright shabby in his equally oversized Muggle clothes, trousers rolled up at the hem (we he and the Weasley girl trying to look like twins?) and his faded lumberjack shirt hanging to his knees, even though it was tucked in. "What are you smirking at, Malfoy?" He sounded annoyed. "I can't believe you were voted to be a prefect," he mumbled under his breath.  
  
"Yeah," the Weasley girl butted in, having heard Potter's comment, "I'd reckon that your father bought you in."  
  
Draco's eyebrows rose. "At least my father has the means to do that. Though." he paused for a moment, ".I understand that Potter does too. Why he dresses in those rags and consorts with trash like you is beyond me."  
  
"Shut your mouth Malfoy." Potter's hand curled around his wand that was sticking out of his breast pocket.  
  
But Draco just sat, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The girl was standing next to Potter protectively.  
  
Protectively. And...  
  
He sighed dramatically with a tragic pose. "Alas, Potter, you have bested me! You don't need to buy mindless fangirls like I do, they flock to your radiance like moths."  
  
The shade of red that the Weasley girl turned was the best possible thing that could have happened that day. Before Potter could make some stunted and eloquent reply, Draco waltzed out of the compartment to go find the trolley witch who sold the Chocolate Frogs he decided that he craved.  
  
"Your whole head matches your hair now, Weasley," he shot back loudly as he moved down the corridor. "Really becoming." He laughed coldly to himself. Tormenting any Weasley, especially one that had such a lasting and unreciprocated love for Harry Potter made his heart considerably lighter, after the conversation earlier with his father which had him less than thrilled.  
  
Draco returned to the compartment some four Chocolate Frogs (and an unnoticed chocolate smear on his shoulder) later. The two Gryffindolts were still there, engaged in a heated debate about something called 'ekeltricity'. Draco sat down-  
  
Next to Potter.  
  
Potter?  
  
"What are you doing here still?" he drawled. "Miss me that much?" He winked coyly.  
  
Potter glared. "No."  
  
Draco waited for an explanation, but Potter just sat there, hands folded in his lap, staring into nothingness out the window.  
  
"Well?" Draco prompted.  
  
A pink flush burned across Potter's face. "I didn't want to interrupt Ron and Hermione..." He admitted finally, staring intently at his hands, fiddling with his skinny fingers.  
  
Ron and Hermione...Ron and Hermione...  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh.  
  
This was new. Draco grinned vindictively. "So the Weasel's found himself a girlfriend," he said slowly, delighting in Potter's unmistakable squirming. "Jealous?"  
  
Potter's pink tinge deepened to a scarlet. "You wish...shut up, Malfoy!"  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed into vicious slits. "The Head Girl not giving you anything, huh?" He shook his head. "Poor Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived degraded to the Boy-Who-Can't-Get-Any..." He chuckled to himself.  
  
"No, I...Cho's not..." Potter was flustered. Good. "Oh, shut up, Malfoy."  
  
Draco ignored this and pried open the latch to the window, stretching over Potter's head to do so. Potter squashed his head down, grumbling. The air passing the train whipped in forcefully and fluttered the green paisley curtains.  
  
Draco sighed contently as the wind whipped through his hair, which he had thankfully charmed this morning so that it would not be too out of place. Appearances are everything, after all.  
  
Potter, on the other hand...  
  
Potter, forgetting Draco's most recent comments, was furiously trying to hold down his raven locks that floated around mindlessly around his head and face. He was losing the battle against the wind and nature, and his hair was even more ruffled that usual, sticking up in every direction possible and more.  
  
"Close the window, Malfoy," he grumbled, suddenly losing patience. "It's too windy."  
  
Draco shrugged. "Messing up your hair?" He asked innocently.  
  
Potter glared.  
  
"I only need it open for a minute." He pulled out four crumpled Chocolate Frog collectable cards from his pocket: Aristotle, Avicenna, Marie Laveau and Dumbledore.  
  
Useless.  
  
Draco had had the entire collection since he was seven when his father had purchased the entire stock of Frogs in the Diagon Alley sweet shop, but he was looking for multiples of Harry Potter in order to make a dartboard for his dorm room.  
  
The mouse-boy perked up, having seen the sheen of the cards reflecting off the leather of the seating. "Hey!" He perked up shyly. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Tossing them out the window," Draco said nonplussed.  
  
"Can I.can I h-have those?" His beady brown eyes were wide with intimidation and resigned fear, though faint hope held fast. Draco shot the boy a glance and the other boy inched further back into his seat.  
  
He snorted, tossing the dog-eared cards up into the started Gryffindor's face. "Here, then. I've got all 1613 anyway." He lunged overtop of Potter's head and violently slammed the window closed.  
  
Mouse-boy was checking out the cards intimately, along with the Weasley girl hovering over his shoulder, their eyes both roving over the words multiple times and tipping the pictures around in the light. "Oh, cool, Gin," The Rat smiled his ridiculous smile. "Marie Laveau- 'some consider her a witch who consorted with Satan, a thief and a procuress.'"  
  
The Weasley girl smiled painfully. Obviously, she had heard the excerpt multiple times before.  
  
"I don't have this one. Oh, Dennis will be so excited. We've tried for months to get Aristotle too. Spent all of our Christmas money from Grandmum on the Frogs and only came up with three Morganas, fifteen Merlins, four Eliphas Levis, one Rasputin and two Joan of Arcs," the mouse-boy gushed. "C'mon Gin, we have to go show Dennis." He dragged the girl out to look for this Dennis.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Dear God," he muttered, low enough so Potter couldn't hear him well. "Save me from that pathetic Mudblood."  
  
Potter must have heard him. He coughed suddenly, clearing his throat from a strangled laugh. Draco looked at him and narrowed his eyes skeptically.  
  
Potter opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and resumed staring at his hands (were they honestly that interesting?), toying with a loose red thread that hung from a fraying cuff. "They're always like that."  
  
"Who? Mudbloods?"  
  
"Ginny. Colin. People like that."  
  
Ah, Muggleborns and Muggle-lovers. Or possibly Potter's adoring fans.  
  
Draco was intrigued. "Potter, the Champion of all the Mudbloods and Muggle- lovers complaining about them? Are you ill?" he teased lightly as he leaned over to put a hand to Potter's forehead motherly.  
  
The Gryffindor recoiled from Draco's almost touch, and put his own hand over his brow to protect his beloved scar. He frowned, clearly regretting his statement. "Sometimes it can just be.annoying, you know? People who act like that." He looked out the window as the train passed rolling green hills dotted with trees and farmhouses.  
  
Draco's eyebrows rose and he smirked to himself. They lapsed into silence quickly, having nothing more to say civilly to each other, and the Rat and Weasel Junior did not return.  
  
Draco's eyes began to linger over the present his father had handed to him, though meant for someone who sported a distinct lightning-shaped scar. He fingered the silver cording gingerly, wary of what potentially lay inside and the faintly green packaging was silken and slippery.  
  
Perfect Slytherin colours, he thought and noticed that the tie in the center of the oblong package curled over and through itself into a knotted coil of a snake.  
  
"Oh, what the hell," he muttered and snapped the cording apart with a sharp tug. He ripped the paper off and found only filmy indigo silk wrapped around a solid object. Draco tugged at the edge and unrolled the object, which fell to the floor with a clunk. A small, folded piece of parchment fluttered down beside it.  
  
Draco picked up the object, a dagger or a small sword, and studied it. The hilt consisted of intricately knotted silver roping, small liquid purple amethysts and many more glittering, multifaceted nearly-black sapphires tied and weaved into the knot work. He turned it over to examine the other side, which was identical to the front, only.He eyed it carefully, squinting. There was an imperceptible gap in the weave, near the center of the hilt within a small floret of midnight gemstones. There was a missing stone. Draco squinted a second time, to make sure.  
  
The image blurred, then refocused again.  
  
Shit. He hadn't remembered to take his bi-monthly Occulus potion that morning.  
  
"Blind?" Potter sounded amused.  
  
Draco's head shot up. "Shut up," he answered too quickly. "Am not." He sneered. Potter was on to something; Draco could see the tell-tale glimmer in his eyes.  
  
Potter was the one to smirk this time, doing a pretty good imitation of a Malfoy smirk, his lips curling. "Mmm.you squint like I did.before I got glasses."  
  
"Don't you ever compare me to yourself, Potter." He fished in a hidden pocket in the carry bag and found the small amber vial. He dropped a little into each eye, blinking furiously at the momentary stinging. "And don't you ever speak of this to anyone."  
  
Potter pushed up his own glasses further on the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "Embarrassed?"  
  
"No." He said simply. "Malfoys have perfect vision. He blinked a couple of times emphatically, letting his pupils adjust, before resuming his inspection of the present. He pulled off the knot work sheath to reveal an untarnished and shining blade. Draco ran his thumb over the blade lightly, not wanting to cut himself.  
  
Which he did.  
  
Ow!  
  
It slipped, because Potter had been watching him. A scarlet splash stained the carpet. "Still sharp." He murmured.  
  
The blade had a double edge, like a Malfoy. There was an inscription carved through the blade in rectangular curls.  
  
Mi amor semper.  
  
Draco read it aloud idly for Potter's wholesome Gryffindor curiosity. "Whatever."  
  
"It means 'My love, always, or forever.' I think." Potter said casually. "It would be Latin."  
  
"And I wouldn't know that already?" Draco ignored Potter's glare and opened the accompanying note:  
  
Draco,  
  
This is the Dagger of the Asteria, or so I was told, though I imagine this means little to you. I had wished to give it to you at your 'Initiation', but your mother held fast that you should have it as a back-to-school present, though I doubt she is aware of its true purpose, that which we discussed earlier.  
  
Consider yourself in her good graces.  
  
The dagger dates back to the mid-eighteenth century and staunchly British in design. Mr. Borgin assured me that it contains very powerful magic woven into it, but I leave this information to your own discretion to determine exactly what, if you wish. Do not establish a long relationship with this dagger, as it is unhealthy.  
  
And lastly, do not disappoint me with a less-than-top performance this year.  
  
As for the dagger, make sure he gives it a try.  
  
Your Father  
  
Draco frowned. Make sure he gives it a try? Potter gets a present from my father? Am I not worthy enough myself?  
  
Sod the unhealthy part. It contains some powerful magic and, black or white, I want to know first!  
  
Potter could wait for his turn; he wanted to know for himself at least what the dagger was capable of before giving it away so readily. He smiled to himself, wrapping the dagger in its silk and crumpling the wrapping around it again before shoving it into another hidden pocket in his trousers, close to his skin. Wizarding clothes were made for unknown pockets and concealments.  
  
Draco noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Gryffindor was still watching him. "Jealous?" He smirked again.  
  
Potter frowned. "Of what?"  
  
"Everything about me. Everything in my life."  
  
"You wish," Potter snorted, "I'm quite happy." He looked smugly (well, as much as he could, being a selfless Gryffindor) at Draco, then turned to the window. He must have remembered something because his eyes suddenly darkened and his face fell slightly. His gaze turned attentively to the paisley in the curtains.  
  
Voldemort.  
  
Draco watched him. He had never seen Potter look quite like this before. Defeated almost. As though he knew ahead of time just how doomed he really was. Draco's brow furrowed and he stated slowly, "I didn't know you gave up so easily fighting evil."  
  
"Well, she- what?" Potter was startled, eyes blazing a bright green.  
  
Oh.  
  
He was thinking about Cho Chang. Obviously teenage hormones were more important on Harry Potter's agenda than saving the world from an evil (and brilliant, or so Draco's father had insinuated on multiple occasions) wizard.  
  
"Well," Draco tried not to look too embarrassed for his misunderstanding. "She's never going to notice you beyond the Boy-Who-Lived."  
  
"Who?" Potter looked up from his daze.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Cho. Chang." The boy was oblivious. It was no wonder the newest Head Girl didn't give him much thought. "She's a waste of your energy. Better spend it on that Jenny-"  
  
"Ginny."  
  
"Janey. Whatever. At least she appreciates you."  
  
"The only thing we have in common is Ron."  
  
He shrugged. "It's a start."  
  
Potter's mouth crumpled, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose again. "Why are you being nice to me?"  
  
"I'm not always an arsehole," Draco stated flatly.  
  
"But you are most of the time."  
  
Draco flashed a grin. "Of course."  
  
"Well," said Potter as he picked at the hem of his shirt, "be an arsehole again. You're annoying me."  
  
"My pleasure."  
  
"Toss off, Malfoy."  
  
"Language, Potter." Draco made an aghast face. "And I was about to until you Gryffindorks barged in on my private snogging session with Blaise."  
  
"That must have been Ginny and Colin, not me. Besides," Potter added, "she's a whore. She'll reject you anyways."  
  
Draco nodded. "Yes, but she is very professional in her ways, unlike Pansy."  
  
Potter choked in disgust. "You sleep with her? That's gross."  
  
"At least I get some action," he drawled condescendingly. "Unfortunately." Draco sighed dramatically, "I cannot same the same for you, dear Harry Potter, the Virgin-Who-Lived."  
  
Potter's jaw dropped and his face was blossoming into a fetching shade of pink. "I-"  
  
"Harry? Harry Potter? What about him?" The figure of the skinny boy with the pointed rodent features, along with the Weasley girl barreled through the door before closing it behind them.  
  
Potter ignored Draco and grinned at the two younger students, obviously pleased at their return. This irked the Slytherin to no end. No one ignored a Malfoy, especially after slighting Potter just as he had.  
  
"Dennis was so impressed, Harry." The Rat laughed, his voice cracking in pitch back and forth like a pendulum. "Gin was just talking about Egypt. Did you know she went to Egypt again, Harry? I'll bet it was really hot. I'd like to go there, but my dad says that I have to wait until I graduate and then."  
  
Did Potter just roll his eyes?  
  
The Weasley girl was talking at the same time. "Yeah. Bill took Hermione to the Muggle museum in Cairo and they were there for hours and hours. I didn't want to go, so I went."  
  
Draco felt something inside explode and he burst out in a fit of laughter. "Wait." He choked, barely able to make out words between the laughing. "You're telling me that you-" he pointed at the girl with a slim index finger, "went to Egypt this summer? How many months did you have to sell yourself to pay for it, Weasley?" He laughed coldly. "Rather, how many years? I mean, who would want a cheap fuck from you?"  
  
Despite her blazing red face, white-fisted hands and clenched teeth, the girl did not reply to his comments. That would only egg him on and feed his über-ego more and Draco knew it. She turned to continue her conversation with Potter and the Rat, speaking in deliberately forced calm tones. "I went to the."  
  
Draco scowled to himself. Fine. She was going to ignore his remarks this time.  
  
Fine.  
  
I'm better than her anyway. I don't need to go to Egypt over the summer to get my kicks for the hols.  
  
No, instead Draco went to France with his family to visit relations of his mother's. They had magnificent dinner parties when they got home to Malfoy Manor that his mother loved to host, his father regularly conducting his 'business' afterward, and Pansy visited frequently, with ulterior motives, of course. He smirked, recalling their last rendezvous a couple weeks previously. A hand ran along his collar bone, which still bore the faint marks from her teeth.  
  
Pansy made sure she always left a mark. Draco usually didn't appreciate it, but now he did.  
  
The remainder of the train ride passed in a relative oblivion of monotony, Draco ignoring the childish chatter of the two youngest occupants of the compartment and periodically scowling at them, Potter staring off into space. Draco wished desperately that Blaise had not left him there alone, especially since she had rejected his advances several times in their fifth year and he wasn't sure when, or if, she would ever again consider sleeping with him. However, he really didn't feel like seeing Crabbe and Goyle, or even Pansy yet (he'd save her for that night), especially since they had an innate homing signal on his treats from home that he wasn't willing to share.  
  
Well, they were his.  
  
He munched on the expensive little chocolate cakes from Belgium and the Cornish Custard Tarts and caught a bit of light reading with "Seventeenth Century German Hexes: Nasty in a New Light" in the hopes that he could find a new and dynamic and, most importantly, untraceable hex to try on Potter (or the Weasel) in the coming months.  
  
When the train neared the familiar dense pine and oak forests and rugged hills in the Hogwarts region, the Mouse-boy and Girl Weasley, as well as Potter, left briefly to change into their school-clothes in the washrooms, and Draco did the same. He was the first to return and sat with a smug look on his face, thinking of the top mark he deserved to get on his summer Potions project: Descibe all seventeen procedures to preparing the Yellow- veined Mountain Grounsel root for a medium-strength Pulegium Nigrum potion and the manifestations of each. He knew the details of each of the seventeen by heart, with a little help from his father's private library and a Cogito-Id-Omnia charm.  
  
He heard a frantic shuffling in the compartment and glanced up from wincing at his recently chewed and extremely painful fingernails. Potter was back, dressed in his school slacks and plaid shirt still, half-hunching over his lumpy carpet bag. He was rummaging quickly through his sagging bag and he heard muffled curses from Potter, his arms clutching protectively at the corner of a sad lump of a white school shirt beside him, which was emitting a very ripe-  
  
"Ew." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Did you vomit on yourself, Potter?"  
  
Potter glared at him. "No. A first year did." He resumed his cursing and frantic searching. "Where is it?" he mumbled, his voice catching. "Where is it? I swear I-"  
  
Draco couldn't stand this. Potter was a Gryffindor, for fuck's sake. "What is wrong with you now, Potter?" he drawled.  
  
"Nothing," the other boy replied quickly.  
  
Too quickly.  
  
"Missing something are we?" he teased. "Or have your frequent stays with the Weasleys made you forget you have possessions at all?  
  
Potter shot him a momentary loathing glance, but his mouth was set in a firm line and his forehead wrinkled, distorting his famous scar. Was he worried?... Something tugged at Draco's insides and he sighed, crouching down beside him. "Let me help."  
  
Potter shook his head miserably, but did nothing to stop him.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Draco asked, no tone of sarcasm or annoyance in his voice, just curiosity; perhaps sympathy if he were capable of feeling it.  
  
"I- I thought I had another white shirt with me, besides the ones in my trunk. I know I packed one. I swear I did. And my school sweater is in my trunk, and I know that I can't wear this shirt off the train and I really need it and I don't have another here and damn! and I-" He gushed eloquently.  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed. "I have another." He turned to get a shirt from his own carry bag.  
  
"No." Potter looked at him wide-eyed, a deer caught in the lights of a horseless carriage.  
  
"But your own is covered in vomit." He pulled the stiffly pressed shirt out and shoved it in front of Potter. "It's not covered in poison, or hexes, if that's what you think."  
  
Potter turned a little pink. "No. Malfoy, it would be.weird. You're my rival. You like to humiliate me."  
  
Draco cocked an eyebrow up. "Yes, but I don't want you to wander around looking as bad as Weasley does. It might damage my own reputation. Even my own enemies should have certain standards."  
  
Potter eyed him carefully, finally accepting the shirt warily checking it over twice. "Alright then. I'll return it-"  
  
"Never."  
  
Potter stared hopelessly, his eyes wide under his thick glasses. "What?"  
  
"Burn it. It'll have your germs. Besides, I have a trunk full of them."  
  
Potter sighed, pulling his shirt out from the waistband of his trousers. "Turn around then."  
  
Draco sneered. "Like I'd stare." He half-turned for Potter's benefit.  
  
If Potter were ever escorted to his own public hanging, he would have worn the same expression he wore on his face now as he pulled the oversized shirt over his head and stood with his naked torso in front of Draco Malfoy.  
  
Draco couldn't help his (morbid) curiosity and shifted his eyes in Potter's direction. He had never actually seen the Boy-Who-Lived shirtless, as each house team had their own private changing rooms for Quidditch and he had been always curious as to just exactly what Potter's uniforms hid from prying eyes. His jaw dropped to the floor alongside the shirt Potter wore and even he would admit to staring that day.  
  
Harry Potter had the most perfect chest he had ever seen. Of male or female, and he had seen a number of very nice female French ones.  
  
Finely muscled and defined, skin stretched out thinly over his ribs. Golden skin that had seen the sun often over the summer. Darkened nipples that hardened with-  
  
"Stop watching me."  
  
Draco snorted, and half-turned again, willing Potter not to turn around fully.  
  
Which he didn't.  
  
One small victory!  
  
Draco was suddenly overcome with the desire to unbutton the shirt Potter was buttoning up and touch his chest, wondering if Potter would shiver at the touch, wondering if Potter would let him-  
  
But, he was a Malfoy and he had self-control.  
  
Plus, touching Potter would just be gross.  
  
Potter sighed, having finished putting the shirt on. Draco had never more envied a piece of his clothing. It fit Potter well; they were the same size.  
  
Figures.  
  
Come to mention it.  
  
He had an arse to match. Not feminine at all, not small and hard like Pansy's or prone to unnecessary swishing like Blaise's. It was.Potterish. Slim. Trim. Toned.  
  
Very nice.  
  
Draco could almost feel his hands running over its smooth lines and wondered how or if he would moan if it was Draco squeezing it and kneading it under his fingertips...  
  
Wrong.  
  
Thinking things like that about Potter is so wrong.  
  
He blinked and resumed his aloofness. "I don't think you need your sweater anyway." He muttered, forcing himself to look away, before realizing he needed an excuse. "It's.uh too warm out. Besides, no one will know what is or isn't under your robe."  
  
Wouldn't you like to know?  
  
Draco ignored the voice in his head. This was exactly Potter's problem, though. No wonder Cho Chang never noticed him- he hid under either his baggy Muggle hand-me-downs or the formless school sacks passed off as robes and boring school sweater-vests. No body that good (though Pansy may have argued that Potter needed to gain a few pounds) deserved to be hidden from the eyes of other students.  
  
As he was stepping off the train a short while later Draco didn't realize that he himself was sweating profusely under the heat of his own sweater which he, incidentally, had forgot to consider removing.  
  
Author's Note: This is my baby. My epic. The fic that I have been working on since June. And now I have finally uploaded chapter one somewhere. (This is not the final version that will be up at Fiction Alley, however. I wanted to post it here first.)  
  
Big glomps to my betas, Jean Claude (Pathetic Invader) and Jive (Catriona Briana) and to Perinnia for feedback, comments, and beta as of chapter two. I loff you guys so much for doing this. You're wonderful.  
  
Also, I'd like to thank VanityFair for introducing me to the wonderful world of H/D slash through her masterpiece, Love Under Will. One of these days I will get up enough guts to go and review it and tell her this. She is amazing. Go forth and read now. 


	2. A Found Object

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Title: The Subtle Knife (2/23)

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Author: Ociwen

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Author E-mail: ociwen@hotmail.com

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Category: drama, slash

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Rating: R

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Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Chapter 2: A Found Object

The first month of his sixth year at Hogwarts passed without much notice. Most of Draco's time was spent furiously studying for Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which had a sixth professor in as many years teaching it. Draco did not even bother to learn the man's name, knowing that he would not be a member of the faculty at Hogwarts the following year. Draco also devoted extra work to the History of Magic, which Draco knew Granger was the only student in his year to best him at it.

That was last year, however.

It had occurred to him once or twice that he might also want to try to improve his care of Magical Freaks mark- his Father had complained to the board of school governors multiple times throughout his fifth year that Draco was performing poorly because of an unjust and biased teacher who was not qualified for the position. But that would have been energy well wasted. He knew Hagrid did not like him. It probably hadn't helped matters when he had accidentally set twenty-three graphorns loose from their 'locked' pen last week and the class had spent seven hours frantically searching in the Forbidden Forest for them.. Well, actually Draco and Pansy had snuck off after a half-hour of making snide remarks at the Weasel's ability to be chased around by the graphorns at horn-point. Detention with Hagrid was worth seeing the look of unadulterated stupidity and complete lack of control the oaf had displayed. Besides, he was hopelessly doomed to a barely passable mark and the oaf only taught the class useless stuff. Who cared about flobberworms and gnomes (last year's final project)? He wanted to learn about unicorns and centaurs and dragons.

__

Especially dragons. They were his namesake, after all.

Or even basilisks would suffice, because they killed dirty Mudbloods.

He had also actively been making life for the Boy-Who-Lived as miserable as he was capable of doing, without working terribly hard. Thrice, in the first week of classes alone, Potter had tripped over Draco's foot, and fallen flat on his face. He broke his glasses one time, the lens having popped out of a snapped frame, but Granger fixed it promptly. Draco had not been pleased to know this, as he had hoped Potter would have suffered at least a day without much use from his eyes. It also had not helped that the Weasley girl had shot him a loathing glare that seemed to insinuate that Potter had told her about his own vision 'deficiency'. 

So Draco moved on to better things.

Before the Gryffindor's first Quidditch practice of the season, he snuck into their changing rooms- which were decorated in no less than garish red and puce yellow- to hex Potter's equipment. He had not anticipated the Golden Boy's Firebolt to have been protectedwith a hex-repellent charm, so instead he ended up attacking the nearest thing in Potter's labeled little cubbyhole- his Quidditch robes. He slithered back onto the Quidditch pitch an hour later to find Potter in a green Slytherin robe-

Laughing. 

__

Laughing?

Draco frowned. It wasn't meant to be funny for _Potter_. "Nice robes, Potter!" Draco shouted as he sauntered out from under the stands where he had been hiding in the hopes that Potter might have had the decency to be angry or chagrined. "So you've decided to join the _winning_ team? Sorry, we're full!"

"I guess Slytherin decided to get a second Seeker! Might actually catch the Snitch for once then!" Potter turned his back on Draco, walking off with his other team members, including the Weasel, who now played as Keeper.

Draco had spent the remainder of the week fuming at Potter's indifference at what should have been an embarrassing moment, and he plotted his revenge. 

This revenge happened to occur in Potions the following Monday. The Gryffindors and Slytherins shared the same class for the sixth year running. As he casually walked up to the front of the classroom to ask Professor Snape an innocent question about the uses of the Ostrum Aestuo poison (a hint for the upcoming test), he made sure to have his hand brush over the top of Potter's cauldron. Draco then happened to sprinkle a little Djinn dust into the depths of the contents of the Gryffindolt's cauldron. 

When Potter sprouted little brown bat wings all over his body later that class, he smirked openly. Snape had insisted that they all try their Vocarum potions, which gave the user the ability to summon any person into their presence. Most of the students managed to be able to summon unsuspecting first years into the dungeon classroom (or, in Weasley's case, a hooting ball of fluff). Longbottom, though, somehow managed to turn himself a fetching shade of terracotta, with magenta undertones, which, in addition to Potter's strange and erratic fluttering about, brought howls of laughter from the Slytherins.

Needless to say, Gryffindor lost 100 house points that class for their "…lack of intelligence in simple potions making that anyone would be ashamed to teach!"

Potter had desperately, along with the Mudblood and Weasel, tried to pin the blame on Draco, but he responded with an angelic and openly innocent 'Who, me?' expression, that could win the heart of even Dumbledore himself. Potter only netted himself a five-hour detention that night and a smirk from Draco.

Yes, school was good.

Plus, Draco gave out three detentions to first year Gryffindors for 1) running in the halls, 2) having an untied shoelace (it _could_ have caused an injury) and 3) for being just plain ugly.

The dagger his father sent him lay neglected since the train ride to Hogwarts and had gradually shifted its way to the bottom of Draco's trunk unnoticed. It did cross his mind to check the library in the Magical Weapons section, but the fleeting thought was lost when Goyle's massive form had thundered into Draco's private dorm. Draco had just been about to sneer at him for entering his room without an invitation when Goyle started to complain to Draco that his father had refused, for the fourth time, to join the Death Eaters until he was _at least_ seventeen, which Draco knew was mid-spring some time. 

"Well," Draco drawled unsympathetically, "at least _my_ father hasn't put any restrictions like that on _me_. I could get the Mark anytime I wish."

"Then why haven't you gotten your Dark Mark yet, Draco, love?" Pansy wandered into the room, swiveling her bony hips unnaturally and sitting down roughly on the dagger that was lying atop Draco's bed. He was lying down on his stomach idly next to it. Pansy, on the other hand, was _always_ welcome in his room.

"Ow!" she shrieked, pulling the dagger out from under her skirt pleats. "What the hell is this thing?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Draco lied, tossing it back into his trunk, slamming the lid shut.

Pansy raised a thinly plucked eyebrow at him and Goyle lumbered out of the room as quickly as it was possible for him to go.

There was a much-needed tension-relieving shag that afternoon and the possibilities of determining the exact magics of the gift (meant for Potter) were put on hold for some time.

Outside of Potions class, and the occasional glaring in the Great Hall at meals, Draco did not see much of Potter that first month, except for at the weekly prefects' meetings, held every Sunday morning at 10:30am sharp. These were led by Hogwarts' Head Girl and Boy, Cho Chang, the incessant note-taking Ravenclaw, and Bert Macmillan, from Hufflepuff. Draco had not been thrilled in the least when he heard that Macmillan was this year's Head Boy. Hufflepuffs were complete pushovers and to have one as the exemplary student in that kind of power position was too much to digest. Not to mention that it was absolutely shaming to be attending an institution that catered to such policies. The old crackpot Dumbledore had been far too easy-going on the Hufflepuffs since Diggory had croaked over a year ago, giving them morale boosters and extra house points for nothing. Draco was not pleased with the increased status of Hufflepuffs, but at least the Gryffindors were not benefiting too much from the arrangement.

He did see the Weasley girl after dinner one evening in the Great Hall. She was making her way up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room (Draco had a vague notion of where it was, somewhere on the seventh floor near a small collection of stodgy English portraits) and he could see that she was walking with her head hung low, occasionally wiping her nose on her sleeve.

She was crying.

__

Excellent.

Girl Weasley was walking lethargically and very methodically up the stairs, her feet moving up each individual stair as though it were her last and her shoulders slumped as though she carried the weight of the world.

But that was Potter's job.

He ran up before her effortless, swooping in for the kill. "Adapting Potter's stance there, Weasley? It doesn't suit you."

She whipped her head around, ruddy hair obscuring her features. "What do you want, Malfoy?" 

she asked miserably.

His eyes gleamed. "Oh, lots of things. Quidditch Cup, top mark in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a new set of marble gobstones, Polonius' Every-Poison-Potion. My father refused to get that for me at Christmas, you know. Said it was…distasteful. And, oh!" Draco leaned closer and grinned. "Potter's head on a platter!"

Her head seemed to droop further when he mentioned _that_ name.

Draco smirked with glee. "Did he reject you _again_?" he prodded. She was alone, none of her many brothers or 'Harry' or mouse boy to save her. She was victim to his total lack of mercy.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Leave me alone." She ran past him up the stairs before he had the chance to trip her. Her face was hidden in her hands, tears undoubtedly streaming down her Weasel face. She seemed genuinely miserable.

Even better.

Draco found out the reason why two days later when he was walking silently into the prefects' bathroom only to find Potter and the Head Girl sucking each others' faces as though the end of the world was nigh. It was…disgusting that Potter had finally made some progress with girls, and strangely humorous. Potter was actually kissing a girl, the girl whose boyfriend he had killed.

__

How ironic.

Draco was, however, too disgusted to walk in and make some scathing comment to Potter about his lack of experience. He shut the door without a sound and left unnoticed.

* * * *

The sixth year Slytherins had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs that year. Dumbledore had shaken up the schedules, which made for some unexpected changes, but these did not extend to Potions. This relieved Draco as he could still make life miserable for Potter then, amongst other things, as well as during Magical Freaks class, taught by none other than the most monstrous freak himself, Hagrid. 

Draco came to learn that Herbology with the Badger house really was not so bad. The Ravenclaws had been good to work with as they usually brought up marks with the frequent group projects, but they were such prudes when it came to having any fun. The Slytherins now had such wonderful subjects- erm, classmates to either: a) sabotage, especially with the Southern Grecian Man-Eating War Cactus the students, well, the Hufflepuffs really, were transplanting that week, or: b) mooch off while the diligent and hard-working, thoroughly honest Hufflepuffs did all the work. The Hufflepuffs never even bothered to rub in the fact that they were generally better at Herbology than the Slytherins. The Ravenclaws were notorious for that. Draco was glad for this because, frankly, no Ravenclaw had ever bested him in that class, though he could not say the same for his fellow housemates.

On the last Thursday of the month of September, during the double Herbology class that morning, Professor Sprout had the students checking the dirt and soil conditions of the Southern Grecian Man-Eating War Cacti and she had paired up each Slytherin with a Hufflepuff. Draco was stuck with a round-faced girl with childish straw-coloured pigtails. He didn't actually mind much as she did the majority of the labor, sticking the moisture-meter in the plant, which snapped and moved and pricked her with its thorns, all the while muttering happily to herself. Draco spent the time studying his nails, which had been, again, bitten down to the quick the previous night while going over his Transfiguration homework. They stung like bitches now and he almost regretted biting them so low. He hated the fact that he bit his nails. It was an addiction, like chocolate, and he could not stop himself. He had tried desperately when he was younger to hide it from his father, but in his all-knowing wisdom, Lucius had found out and given Draco a long and drawn out rant about his many imperfections, even bribing Draco with gifts and treats if he would stop.

But he always relapsed and had given up fighting it.

His father ignored it now, but his mother still harassed him about it, threatening every once-in-a-while to use Magic Nails™ Stick-On nails that grew realistic nails onto the bitten enamel. 

The cactus began to creep precariously close to the blonde girl; its spikes were bristling out like a porcupine's. Draco felt that he might need to say something to the Hufflepuff that the plant was nearly jabbing a prickled appendage into her jugular, but she was humming a simple little tune, crouched over and deeply engrossed in her work, too involved in digging up the soil with her trowel. It would have not prudent to disturb her.

Besides, Draco did not want to actually do any physical labor in Herbology that day. He wrote essays.

"Suck on your fingers," the girl urged suddenly, not turning around to face him.

"What?" Draco snapped at the chubby girl. _What the hell was she talking about?_

"It can sense the blood from your fingernail biting. It's attracted to the smell. We have to be careful with these plants. They're about eighty years old and it would be really hard to grow a new one for Professor Sprout." She began to hum again.

__

Whatever.

Draco did suck on his fingers warily and the cactus swayed less animatedly, spines retracting somewhat into its sickly greenish flesh.

Halfway or so through the class, Pansy came over to talk to Draco, leaving her own partner, Finch-Bletchley, or whatever. His name was of no importance- he was a Mudblood anyway. Draco's hand had been in the process of roaming down Pansy's low-cut, now half-buttoned, shirt when Professor Sprout had noticed said Mudblood's hand being devoured by the mouth of one of the plants. The 'mouth' was really more of a gaping, mucus-filled hole near the base of the six-foot high cactus stalk. Sprout had hauled Pansy off half-heartedly to look after the plant while she escorted the Hufflepuff to see Madam Pomfrey.

Pansy shot Draco desperate glances and blew him a kiss from the palm of her hand. He nodded unenthusiastically back at her and resumed pulling out painful, and irritating, hangnails that annoyed him to no end, even though they hurt even more and bled profusely afterwards. It was a more stimulating endeavor than examining the dark, soggy and dirty, well, dirt like he was supposed to be doing. Draco would never do anything so messy, despite wearing the frocks the school supplied for Herbology work, or anything at all to dirty himself or his expensive new robes that his mother had specially ordered from a tailor in Italy. Gardening was servants' work; essays, on the other hand, were currently his.

"Hmm…" he heard the girl, Hannah Abbot, or Anna Habit, or whichever, say. "What's this?"

"What's what?" Draco hopped off the perch he had occupied on a marble bench, strolling over to the girl and hovering overtop of where she was crouched by the cactus pot. He was careful not to get too close to the cactus, which leered at him several feet away and being mindful of any dirt that might soil his black Italian faux-manticore-hide leather shoes. 

Hannah Abbot wiped a blackened, muddy paw across her pink forehead, smearing dirt across her flushed skin. Draco wrinkled his nose up at the sight. She held out a clump of dark earth in her hand, which glinted silver in the dull light.

He looked at her blankly. "A clump of _dirt_?"

"No." She frowned and crumbled the clump in her hand before letting the dirt fall through her fingers, then rubbed the something on the side of her smock in an effort to clean it. She studied the object intensely for a quick moment before Draco had to clear his throat in irritation.

"Well?" he drawled.

She held out her hand again, timorously and her eyes were downcast. "It's a necklace," she whispered breathlessly, in awe of her discovery.

Draco snatched it up immediately and strutted over to Crabbe and Goyle, chuckling. Huffing and puffing with the effort, the Hufflepuff girl ran up behind him. "Hey! I found that!"

Draco nodded almost imperceptibly towards Crabbe and Goyle, who flanked his sides instantly. They could be very useful at times, with their impressive size and ability to intimidate anyone smaller than them. Except Draco, of course. 

"You were saying?" he drawled, his arms folded in defiance.

The Hufflepuff girl walked off without so much as a squeak, defeated.

Draco held up the necklace to the light streaming through the greenhouse ceiling. It was an old silver chain, tarnished, no doubt, from being buried in the greenhouse earth for who knows how long. Though why it was buried was beyond him. The silver had taken on a dark, almost pinkish appearance and there was a single charm that dangledtranquilly from it. Held in a claw-like clasp, a smooth liquid green stone lay. There were partially visible scratch marks, obscured near the claws of the setting, and the stone seemed a strange fit for the clasp, as though it didn't belong. The claws splayed out in too tiny an angle for so large of a stone. The stone itself was diminutive and was lack-lustre, despite its obvious polish and smoothness and the tiny veins of white and emerald that rippled through its innards.

Crabbe looked at Draco, thick eyebrows scrunching. "Givin' it to Pansy?" he grunted.

Draco tossed it up into the air. "Nope," he said, catching it with his innate Seeker's reflexes.

Crabbe muttered a 'why not'.

Draco stepped outside the nearest exit doors of the greenhouse briefly and hurled it across the still-green school lawns behind the greenhouse. The necklace bounced twice, unevenly, when it landed and disappeared towards the lakeside. "Piece of junk." Draco slammed the glass door behind himself as he strolled back into the building. 

"Besides, it wouldn't match her eyes."

Draco did not think anything more of the necklace the following week, although he did bother to take his dagger out of his trunk to examine it again before going to bed late the next Friday night. He resolved that he would go to the library in the morning after breakfast and leaf through a couple books on wizarding weapons of the eighteenth century. The upcoming Quidditch game was foremost engraved in his mind- the season opener: Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. There was less than a month until that. _Two weeks, actually_, he thought as his eyelids drooped heavily and he swam off into the ocean of sleep.

Beside him, the sapphires of the dagger hilt shone a bright cornflower blue and the amethysts twinkled under a hidden moon.

Draco was dreaming.

He knew that primarily because he was in the middle of a field. At night. And he never did anything like that when he was conscious. No, if he were awake, he would most certainly have either been in Hogwarts Castle spying on Harry Potter or in the Forbidden Forest spying on Harry Potter.

Nevertheless, it was night in his dream, he was in a grassy field in the middle of nowhere, and it was so dark that he could not see; he couldn't even make out the form of his own body, but he knew he was physically there. He could feel the cold dew of the grass on his bare toes, which strangely were warm despite the chill one usually associated with the moisture. He could feel the wind ruffling his hair, messing it. He brought a hand up to fix the strand that fell in front of his vision. Not that it mattered. 

"You want to be perfect even in your dreams," he mumbled to himself. 

He heard muffled giggles nearby and was drawn towards them, his feet moving confidently in the darkness. He shivered under his thin silk pajamas. The dream, which was not real, sure had a high degree of verisimilitude. The fine hairs on his arms were standing up and he shivered again, wrapping his arms around himself. He did not truly feel cold; it was an unconscious move, as though to protect himself against something to come. Draco walked on, hugging his body closely.

The laughter grew in volume, and Draco wandered aimlessly to find the source. He was certain that he must be standing on top of the people, or perhaps he was a ghost. Or, maybe they themselves were the phantasms. He couldn't see them; rather, he felt their presence, their auras. There were two of them- one obviously male and one softer, a female. And they felt young, his age, perhaps. He could sense that much.

The laughing stopped abruptly and Draco felt the invisible, formless beings merge, as though they were kissing, or embracing, or disappearing together into the netherworld. He felt like an intruder, violating something that he had no part of, but he was mesmerized and something unnatural not of his own will dragged him forward, beckoning- no, _forcing_ him to stay. 

Then a clear, soprano voice rang through the darkness. It was very much a feminine one. "We cannot continue to meet here like this."

A young male's tone responded. Draco heard the laugh again; he seemed happy. 

"Could we stop if we wished to?"

"Do you?" the girl asked in return.

"No." Was the firm reply. 

Then the two voices took form with a swirling of a smoky cloud. The clear image of a young man and a lady embracing closely was directly in front of Draco, yet he seemed to be entirely unnoticed unto them. The girl was of average height with long, dark hair, pale skin and flushed cheeks. Her eyes were shining a dark jade in the moonlight and her lips were parted in a smile. She had a distinct cut on her left eyebrow, slicing it into two jagged pieces with the scar. She was dressed rather strangely in a very dated long, white dressing gown trimmed with a delicate fading cream lace; a dark cloak was draped around her body and a silver chain hung around her neck, stark against the paleness of her skin.

It was the same necklace the Hufflepuff had dug up, only it was much newer and polished. Somehow it managed to glitter in the darkness and reflect non-existent light.

The boy was of roughly the same height as the girl and likely the same age, around Draco's. He had hair that was dark, thought not nearly as much as the girl's and his eyes were a brazen blue. His hair was longish, well past his ears, and fell over his face. The girl lovingly pushed it aside and kissed the boy gently on the lips.

__

That boy needs to tie his hair back, Draco thought. _Especially if it gets in the way of kissing_. 

As the two young people kissed, he noted that the boy was also dressed in bizarre clothes. He wore tight grey…hose? Either that or extremely tight trousers that revealed much more than Draco would have ever wanted to see. The shirt the boy wore was loose and white, with a ruffled collar and cuffs.

Even for Wizarding clothes the lace was a bit much.

The girl broke away from their kiss reluctantly. "I fear someone knows," she said in a low voice, seemingly wary of any watchers, her cheek resting on the boy's.

The boy nuzzled her neck, pushing her dressing gown to the side with his chin. He kissed her collarbone languidly. "I want everyone to know."

She pushed the boy away roughly with her fists, startling him. "They cannot know!" she hissed, her manner instantly turning vicious and angry. "They would not understand! I am a-"

The boy pursed his lips. He wasiratetoo, but did not display it so openly. His fists were balled and his body was stiff, rocking forward on his toes. Draco sensed that they had had this conversation before.

"A Slytherin, yes, and I am a Gryffindor." He stepped towards the girl, and her face softened. "And I care not, either. I do love you."

The girl looked at the Gryffindor boy. Draco could see her eyes now. They had changed from the green and were now a clear violet, flecked with azure and amber. Pale and dark and glowing all at once. "As do I." She moved closer to the boy and threaded her arms around him, then moved her lips achingly slow against Draco's own, which tingled at the touch.

His own.

At this point the dream had shifted. Now, instead of being the onlooker, the third person watching, it was Draco himself doing the kissing. He would not have known that except for the warm breath of someone else on his lips and he leaned forward into them. An immensely pleasurable shock infused through his body as he touched the other person and his eyes widened with the unexpectedness of this.

It most certainly was not Pansy.

He could not see anyone there. He was blinded by…something and tried to pull away, shutting his eyes. Whatever Draco was kissing sensed this and moved their lips across his ever so lightly and sweetly that Draco felt his pulse race with pleasure. He deepened the kiss, wanting more and the other responded, tugging at his bottom lip with their teeth. He felt himself moan in pleasure before the other being repeated the process, nipping at his upper lip this time.

Draco felt hands run through his hair, and knew that they were slim like his own. The hands toyed a strand out of place, leaving it to hang over his ear. A second hand wound around Draco's back, pulling him in closer. Frantically, Draco grabbed at the blank space in front of him and when he came in contact with something tangible, something like a Hogwarts wool cloak, he closed his eyes in reassurance. 

There _was_ someone there, even if he could not see them.

Draco was too afraid now to open his eyes, for if he did, he knew the other person would vanish and he desperately wanted to know who it was, to continue the kiss. He ran his hands along the chest of the other person and felt…flatness. Smooth and supple and very much male.

__

Well, okay, that was…all right, he supposed. The kiss was too nice to worry about such trivial details.

Draco sighed in contentment into the other boy's mouth. With this new information, he plunged his tongue boldly into the mouth connected to his, claming it for his own. Running his tongue over the other boy's, Draco was determined to taste him fully. He tasted of chocolate and pumpkin juice, so familiar, and spicy, but mostly sweet, though not sugary, and had faint hints of peppermint. Draco ran his tongue over and in-between the moist crevices of the other boy and the Slytherin's hands groped and kneaded the taut and thin chest harshly, causing the other boy to let out a strangled moan, muffled by Draco's own mouth.

The other boy pulled away sharply from Draco's lips to rain kisses along his jawline. So quick and deft that Draco could never his presence. The mystery boy's kisses were saccharine and hot and sticky, like melting ice cream from Florean Fortescue's, and Draco wanted more. He moved his own mouth along the Braille of the other's face, kissing a cheekbone, an eyelid, _anything_ his mouth could reach. He cupped a slim and toned buttock with one hand, the other still clutching the leveled chest of the other boy forcefully.

"Don't. We cannot let this happen again," the other said lowly; Draco could almost recognize the voice, but he could not put a face to it. The dream refused him that luxury.

"Third time's the charm. We'll fix it." He heard the words pour from his mouth unobstructed, his voice strangely calm.

The other boy moaned in agreement.

At that moment, Draco needed to know who this boy was. Needed to know what caused his own body to respond to the other boy like that. He was scared stiff to open his eyes, knowing that the other body wouldn't be there, wouldn't be tangible and all would be forgotten with the passing dream in consciousness. Draco knew the other boy would not be there and that the Slytherin would never again see him or feel quite this way again. This knowledge was nearly unbearable.

__

Control. He told his dream-self. _You are still a Malfoy_.

Stormy grey eyes, now alive with both desire and fear, shot open to meet, for the shortest of moments, the same green eyes that the strange girl had first possessed. They were green, dark with unknown depths, flecked with silver and gold and black and emerald, most of all emerald. Draco saw himself reflected in their chasms…

Then nothing.

The boy was gone. Faded with the dream.

Draco arched up in his bed with a strangled gasp. He was awake now and breathing very rapidly and very deeply. He was wrapped up in a tangle of limbs and sheets and sweat, burning with a feverish lust- or perhaps desire- that still lingered. He blinked in the shadows of his dorm, which was faintly light with the early dawn (mostly reflecting from the clouds from the night's rain), relative to the contrasting black blindness of his dream.

Which he still remembered.

So clearly that he was shaking.

Draco sat up in his bed and unwound the sheets from his limbs, pajama bottoms clinging and bunching and twisting around his legs. He was motionless for a moment, listening to the loud snores of Goyle across the hallway in the sixth year boys' dorm.

__

God, he's louder than the Hogwarts Express.

Draco flopped back onto his pillows and listened to the snoring. Some minutes later, he decided that it was useless attempting to return to slumber. His heart was beating erratically, his hands futilely covering his ears, not even considering in his state to use a silencing charm on his room. His heartbeat alone was nearly shattering his ribcage with its brute force and his breathing was still too ragged. His cheeks burned with the kisses the ghastly-eyed boy had left there. Draco could feel their brand under his palm when he brought his hands up to cool them.

Nope, he was much too awake to sleep.

Draco rolled over and glanced at his clock. 5:07am it read, and had a little figure of what might have resembled himself, a silver-haired boy, staring at him, tapping its foot in sync with the seconds ticking away restlessly. 

"Fine." He growled and rolled out of bed onto the thick rug on the floor, fumbling in the muddy shadows en route the bathroom, still not awake enough to think of bringing his wand or untwisting his one pant leg from his knee.

Draco held onto a sink for solid support as he staggered into the black marble room, the silver specs of galena glittering throughout the walls and the floor and the countertops. The taps and the sconces on the wall were silver, which automatically lit up in eerie green flames as he entered. His body flushed feverishly hot then chillingly cold and he shivered fitfully.

His image in one of the mirrors above a sink that he clutched blue (beyond white) knuckles to, drawled: "What is wrong with _you_? Go take a shower. You look _awful_!"

Draco sneered at the mirror, but it fell short and came off as more of a grimace. The reflection swore back at him for spite. Draco did, however, decide to take the mirror's advice and stripped his pajamas carelessly in the middle of the room before stepping into a hot shower (again, automatic for convenience's sake). The water pelted over his body like hot hailstones and he welcomed it, drenching himself and washing away most of the burns the boy in his dream had caused.

Most, but not all.

Draco had planned on crawling back into the comforts of his bed after what had turned out to be quite a long shower, but decided not to when Crabbe began to grunt out Tracey Davis' name and thrash around in his bed. He was still irritatingly loud despite the fact that Draco had closed his own door and the sixth year boys' dorm room door was also shut. He almost had pity on the three other boys that still shared the dorm with Crabbe. Draco, thoroughly not wanting to listen to Crabbe's dream, dressed in his school uniform insanely quickly and nearly ran into the Slytherin Common Room. 

Crabbe's dreams were notorious for being very vocal and very graphic.

Settling down, wide-eyed, on a leather couch, Draco resolved to do some long-neglected Charms homework. He hated Flitwick as well, though not with the same animosity as Hagrid or grudging respect he gave McGonagall. The thought of the aggravating little pipsqueak that bounced merrily around his classroom made Draco briefly forget the passions of his dream and the Slytherin began to plot more devious deeds to try out on Potter and his fellow Gryffindorks.

Pansy was surprisingly one of the first Slytherins to rise that morning; she noticed Draco in the Common Room and walked over behind him, draping herself like a bony feline across the back of the couch.

"What are you doing up so early, Draco?" she cooed, rubbing her hands into the stiff muscles of his neck.

He leaned forward to give Pansy a better angle with which to massage. He groaned in assent as her hands kneaded with more force. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

"Mmph…Crabbe wanking? Neither could I." She continued to massage his neck. 

Draco half-turned to Pansy, her hands still working into his knots. "Oh?" He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"If one more 'O Vincent! O Crabbe! O God, I'm gonna come!' wakes me up at an ungodly hour in the morning again, I will use an Unforgivable on Tracey Davis!" Pansy sneered. "Honestly, someone needs to tie those two together in all their unrequited 'love'." She leaned in closely to Draco's ear and whispered, which really was a low shriek. "Besides, then they could finally use their personal practicing on each other."

Draco laughed coldly. "Have they no shame?" he asked rhetorically.

Pansy snorted. " Speaking of which, when's your free period, Draco? I can't recall."

"This afternoon."

Pansy's hands flew from his neck, and Draco, annoyed with her fickleness, scowled.

She winked at him, crawling over the couch to settle down by his feet. "We'll continue _that_ then. In the meantime, you can help me with my Arithmancy homework." She smiled at Draco, her jaw and mouth both a little too large for her face. "After all, you _are_ the top student in the class. I'm hopeless!" Pansy sighed with an air of melodrama. "_Utterly_ hopeless!" 

Sometimes the girl reminded him far too much of his mother.

He and Pansy worked on her Arithmancy homework until Crabbe, Goyle and some of Pansy's friends woke up then they all made their way up to the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco led the way, as always, flanked by his cronies and Pansy clutching at his arm, as always.

They passed Potter in the Great Hall and Draco led his Slytherin group in a mass-sneer at Potter. Potter ignored this for the most part, as always, and turned to talk with the Weasel and the Mudblood.

"Ignoring us _again_, Potter? You seem to do that every morning," Draco drawled happily.

Pansy laughed shrilly. "Yeah. Afraid of Draco?" She grinned and wrinkled her already up-turned nose. "I sometimes am, in bed, of course. He's _so_ scary!"

Draco growled, baring his teeth (which were perfect, unlike the Mudbloods, or any of the Gryffindolts) and curled his hands up into claws. "Grr…arg…"

Potter rolled his eyes. "You're such a twit, Malfoy. Go away."

Draco smirked. He had _hoped_ Potter would say that. "Well," he smirked widely, "a twit who's had some, mind."

Potter turned red, and matched the Weasel's hair. 

Humiliation _was_ the perfect shade for a Gryffindor after all.

Draco stood back and admired his work. "Good. I feel better now that I've gotten my daily rise out of you, Potter." 

He waltzed away, over to the Slytherin table. "And by the way, Scarface," he yelled back, "you stink!"

Potter frowned, his dorky glasses sliding down his nose, as always.

Draco deposited himself at the Slytherin table, taking his usual seat near the Seventh Years' end, surrounded by his court, but something felt…odd. He glanced around the room himself, not noting any unusual difference in the environment, until-

His eye settled onsomething vividly green.

Or rather, his eyes _gravitated_ towards it.

The necklace in his dream.

The same necklace Hannah Abbot had dug out of the dirt. That he had flung down towards the lake in Herbology.

He lifted his head up and met the eye of the person who had the tarnished silver chain hanging from their neck, a slim and golden neck. Whose hands were fingering the smoothly polished jade-green stone that hung from the claws that fit poorly.

Who had the same green eyes from his dream- ethereal, timid, strong, beautiful liquid emerald irises that captured an array of colours.

It was Harry Potter.

And he was staring back at him. 

****

Author's Note: Much thanks to Rashida (Nightshade- I *hope* I have your names right!) for the super-fast, super-good and super-appreciated beta and to Jive, as always for her comments and very thorough beta. I loff you guys!

And to all the readers on Schnoogle and Ff.net who reveiwed. You cannot possibly imagine how much I loved getting reveiws and how much they mean to me. Thank you!


	3. Believe in What You Want

**Title: The Subtle Knife (3/23) **

**Author: Ociwen**

**Author E-mail: ociwen@hotmail.com**

**Category: drama, slash**

**Rating: R**

**Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF**

**Summary: When Draco receives a mysterious dagger from his father in his sixth year, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat? **

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and **

Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The title of this fic comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. There is no similarity of plot, only the title.

****

**Chapter 3: Believe in What You Want**

_Not that I had been staring, Draco reminded himself for the twenty-sixth time. No, Malfoys do not make at eyes at their worst enemies, __especially not Gryffindors. It must have been a mistake. He had obviously dreamed of some other person who had very similar features, similar age and build; someone who had the same green eyes as Potter, if that was possible._

To get his mind off the boy in his dream (who couldn't be Potter!), Draco actively began to research anything on the dagger his father had given him. The first Saturday in October, before his Quidditch practice later that day, he set out for the library. Because it was so early on in the year to begin studying, very few other students had ventured into the library. Several fourth year Ravenclaws were there, a third year Hufflepuff, himself and Granger. The thought did occur to him to sneak up behind her hunched form over a book and hiss "Dirty Mudblood" loudly in her ear, but Potter, and the Weasel, weren't there. It would not have been worth it much without getting a rise out of the two boys as well. Too much effort for only goading one person.

He set his bag on a table close to the Restricted Section, behind a high shelf of Encyclopedias, far from the other occupants of the library. Madam Pince was watching him like a hawk, as if he might sneak into the Restricted Section underneath an Invisibility Cloak or something. No, Potter probably did that, but not him. 

The dagger was hidden inside with a cloaking charm to protect it from being touched by either filthy Mudbloods or anyone else. Draco had thought about asking Professor Snape for an all-purpose permission slip into the Restricted section (Hah! He scoffed at the title- _Restricted Section! His father had a far better and even more dangerous collection in the family library), but decided against it for the time being. Snape might be suspicious of his motives even if Draco was one of his favorite students. Besides, he could always try that later if he needed to._

Draco cross-referenced the name 'Dagger of the Asteria'. Much as he had expected, there was nothing listed in the files. The name was in all likelihood made-up, disguising the true purpose of the dagger, cloaking it as an enigma. After locating a couple of plausibly helpful books, which were probably more like volumes of useless crap, he dropped them onto the table, purposely making a loud crash. The books themselves were at least six inches thick and as massive as something the halfwit game-keeper owned. Draco had evidently startled the other students; they were all tensed up and staring wide-eyed at the source of the noise. Granger glared at him, a baneful look on her ugly face.

Draco smirked smugly in return.

The first book, _Magical Tools for Mundane Purposes, was totally and utterly useless. According to a side-note by the publisher on the first page, it dated from 1867. However, the page was peeling away from on top of an even older page, the resin adhesive flaking away amber chunks with age. All of its other 934 pages also seemed too yellowed and too frail. _

The book was filled with descriptions of how to launder unaided with a cauldron, cook with a Merman's trident and light fires with the use of a broomstick (not by setting the twigs on fire as Draco would have imagined). The boy spent the following two hours plodding through the miniscule and nearly illegible green wiggling type of the pages before noting, on the second-to-last page, a dedication:

_To, Belinda Mathers_

_to Learne howe Too make Youre_

_Home a bettre playse Throo Magick_

_and the Use of Magickle Tooles in The_

_hearthe and kitchen_

_-Peony Whitting-Godolffin_

"Bollocks!" Draco muttered and slammed the cracking leather cover shut in frustration.

The second book was more helpful and, thankfully, nowhere near as large- _Ritual Knives and Daggers of __Western Europe, 1773 edition. The musty and mildewed pages were fragile and crumpled underneath Draco's fingertips as he tore through as quickly as he could to save his focus. His eyes quickly grew tired and were prone to glazing over, and his head lolled to the side. Draco did manage to find a paragraph on silver knives set with sapphires. His dagger __was a knife of sorts, and therefore, he found the information relevant. The short paragraph on the knives used in binding magic he copied into a scroll of notes he kept:_

_It was saide to me, Roderick Keigwin of Plympton (the author)__, by a moste trusted frend that, and it is Moste verily true, that a sharpe knife that is set wyth blue Saffires and wound Widdershins elefen times by a glovved hand in the Moon as She wanes is moste useful in magic to binde one indiwidual to the binder and my moste trusted frend assurred me rightly_

_that the practis is still performed in the northe and remote parts of Our glorious Nation and in Paris, in the courte of the Moste Famous Wizard, Louis de la Loupemorte, who is knowen widely for his slaying of sefenteen wearwolfs that terrorised the town of Grandmortainne in the Southe of France, neare a large Muggle settlement by the Mountayne that which now is called Grandladonsueille, in the Autumn of the year of Our Lord, 1765. Likewise, when a knife is set wyth Peridott and Citryne-yellow stones…_

Blah, blah, blah.

Draco groaned and massaged his temple with his fingertips. The book mentioned nothing further about a dagger or a knife that resembled his in any way, least of all one supposedly called 'The Dagger of the Asteria'. Nothing was mentioned about amethysts. Draco _knew that was what they were; he had an eye for gemstones, thanks to his mother. And nothing was mentioned about the Celtic-style swirls of the silver either, or of the one missing stone in the hilt._

Checking his watch, Draco reckoned that four hours spent in the library were bloody well wasted and he went off to go eat a late lunch in the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle were still there, no doubt, to maximize the amount they could stuff their faces with.

Sauntering out of the library pompously, Draco left the books spread out lazily across the table, open-faced, for Madam Pince to shelve. He also knew that librarians loathed students who did that.

All the better.

The Quidditch practice that afternoon was not terribly rewarding either. The pitch was muddy from the previous evening's rain. The ground was making squelching noises under their shoes and the wet dirt caked their heels. The two third year Chasers complained incessantly about this.

"Would you fucking shut your gobs about the sodding mud?" Draco had finally shouted at them. "You're both riding fucking _broomsticks, in the __air, not on the ground!" _

Those two particular Chasers were new that season and Draco, in his well-earned position as Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, spent the better part of an hour explaining how the Hawkshead Attacking Formation required all _three Chasers in the arrowhead position, not just one._

Flying around the pitch watching the trials of the team was rather humorous, though, and Draco enjoyed the feeling of the crisp October air on his face and fingering lingeringly through his hair. He forgot about the stupid dagger his father had given to him- that he would _eventually give to Harry Potter- and the unprofitable hours of the morning. Draco was also able to forget the dream where he was kissing the Boy-Who-Was-But-Couldn't-Have-Been-the-Boy-Who-Lived with a passion. He focused solely on flying in the moment and on the match with Ravenclaw the next weekend._

After three hours, Draco gave up trying to lecture the other players on what they should and should not have been doing and called the team down to the ground for a brief and scathing pep talk. The new Chasers were throwing the Quaffle at the older Chaser- Montague, a seventh year- playing some ridiculous "monkey-in-the-middle game". The Beaters were hitting Bludgers

deliberately aimed for the Keeper's head, who swore furiously and tried, unsuccessfully, to hex their noses off.

Draco landed quickly from his surveying position in the air and hopped off his broom. "Get your arses down here!" he demanded loudly using the _Sonorus charm to amplify his voice._

He was scowling angrily after the new Chasers decided that they needed to take ten more minutes to end their childish game and land, but he ignored their obvious disrespect for his authority. "Right then," He sneered at the six others on the Quidditch team. "I'll make it brief. I want to beat the crap out of Ravenclaw next weekend-" 

The team cheered unanimously at this and Draco smirked.

"You two," he nodded to the new Chasers, "go for Ravenclaw's new Chaser. From what I've heard it's a little blonde git. And you two," he nodded at the Beaters, "go for the other Chasers. They're fast, but our Firebolt, version 2.0s are faster. I want them out of play in, say," Draco paused a moment, considering, "five minutes?" 

The players nodded curtly in agreement, sneering evilly. "Bludgers to their brains, then," one said. 

"Don't worry about the Ravenclaw Beaters. Two second years-they haven't got the experience or a chance. As for me, I'll take their Seeker on. She's no match for me." he declared arrogantly.

Sniggers erupted from the Beaters and Draco narrowed his eyes at them. "Get out of here." He sneered coldly, trying to mimic a visage of his father. The team stood unmoving for a moment. "All of you!" 

They scattered like leaves in a storm and made for the change-rooms.

The next Saturday, Draco had a dreamless sleep the night before the match, waking up somewhat early before stumbling to the showers, where he woke up fully after Pansy gave him a 'good luck' blow job.

She grinned as she slowly walked out of the boys' washroom, wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her slinky negligee was wet at the knees. "That take your mind off things?" 

Draco smirked back in satisfaction as he wrapped a bottle-green towel around his slim waist.

"Good," Pansy called out as she shut the door behind her. "I want you to win the game this morning, love." 

Breakfast was loud that morning, especially at the Slytherin table, with the anticipation of the first real Quidditch game of the season- Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff didn't count as a game, really. Ravenclaw had won the match against Hufflepuff in September, but only narrowly with a score of 160-130 after their bint of a Seeker _finally caught the Snitch after four mind-numbing hours. Draco had spent the first half of the match deeply absorbed in the game with the other teams' tactics. Hufflepuff had some very strong Chasers and Ravenclaw had a new Keeper, which accounted for the majority of the goals scored. He also noted that the Ravenclaw Seeker (Potter's girlfriend, by now?) was off her game a little this season, but he would wait and see at the next game before making a final judgment on it. _

When the mail came that morning, Draco was pleased to see that his mother had sent him a good luck gift- more chocolate tarts, Chocolate Frogs with the cards already removed on his behalf, and a short letter complaining about his father' s going off on business _again. Narcissa Malfoy was also very frustrated with the lack of decent autumn fashions that year. Apparently, the colours of the season were "__…so bleak, all dark browns and rusts and ochres. They look positively horrible on my complexion, Draco." _

He polished off the last of his tarts as he made his way down to the Quidditch changing rooms  an hour or so later. Draco quickly changed into his neatly-pressed green Slytherin robes and grabbed his latest edition Firebolt version 2.0 (still one step beyond Potter!). He swaggered out confidently onto the pitch where he waited for the remainder of his teammates to arrive.

The two new Chasers were the last to arrive, as Draco had anticipated.

The stands were filled to the maximum capacity and Draco could see Pansy furiously waving a Slytherin banner with his face blown up onto it, looking smug. Draco smirked back to himself, but rolled his eyes at Pansy for shrieking his name above the noise of the crowd. She was too far up to have noticed the gesture, however, so she simply grinned at him and flapped the banner with increased vigor.

Draco also noted Potter, on the other side of the pitch, with the Gryffindors, of course; he was surrounded by his flock of devoted sheep. The Mudblood Granger was on his one side, and Weasley, with his unmistakable mop of red hair was on the other. There were a number of younger girls up near Potter, amongst them the Weasley girl. Unlike the others who were fawning over the Boy-Who-Lived, she was glowering darkly at Potter

Draco had to chuckle to himself. Clearly, she was none-too-pleased about his recent activities with the Head Girl.

_Well, they were disgusting. Potter deserved someone else kissing him like that. Someone like- _

Draco whipped his head away from the stands as Madam Hooch had stepped onto the field by then. The crowds were hushed into a dull and droning roar pepped with the occasional "Go, Draco!" from Pansy.

"Ms. Chang." Madam Hooch motioned to who could only be the Ravenclaw team captain. Draco assumed that her team had chosen her out of pity over the whole Diggory Debacle. "Mr. Malfoy." Madam Hooch eyed him with her strange yellow eyes.

He walked up to the Ravenclaw girl, broom in his one hand and smirked as he offered her the other. She smiled weakly, head drooping slightly, and shook his hand briefly. Her hand was cold and clammy.

"Nervous?" Draco drawled with a cock of his eyebrow.

Cho Chang did not answer.

Madam Hooch unlocked the one of the school sets of Quidditch balls. "Players, take your positions!" she hollered, Quaffle in hand and whistle ready.

Draco mounted his broom and took off, flying a tight circle overhead of the other players before slowing down and settling in to a position straight above Madam Hooch and the three Slytherin Chasers. Chang was hovering in the same position some thirty feet ahead of Draco. He narrowed his eyes, ready for the match, and put on his game face, hard and determined to win.

"And the Bludgers are up, the Snitch is out and the Quaffle is thrown!" Draco could make out the voice of the commentator easily with the _Sonorus charm in use. It was some third year Gryffindor. He wasn't nearly as good as Lee Jordan had been, despite his obvious bias towards the Gryffindor team and his constant penchant for advertising, but the new one would do._

"Baddock of Slytherin has the Quaffle in play. Oh, nice dodge and swerve by Montague of Slytherin- that Bludger hasn't gotten him yet…" 

Draco circled lazily over the northern end of the pitch, near the Slytherin goalposts. It was unlikely the Snitch would make an appearance this early into the game. Besides, he wanted to be in a good position to direct the team's strategy to win (or win faster).

"Dorny of Ravenclaw goes in for the Quaffle, but-" the commentator paused. "Oh! He misses…and Slytherin scores!" 

The crowds in the Slytherin stands erupted in cheer, but the familiar hisses were heard elsewhere.

10-0. 

_This would be easy._

A Bludger flew by Draco's face, just barely skimming his nose. He hadn't seen it come in from behind. He toppled to the side of his broom and nearly lost his balance. Draco hooked his right leg around the broomstick and quickly regained his stance. "Weir! Godwin! Where are my fucking Beaters?" he screamed at them, ticked with their complete lack of watching out for Bludgers near their team captain.

Godwin, the fifth year Slytherin Beater, whizzed by in a blur of emerald, followed closely by a Ravenclaw Beater, blue robe flashing in the wind.

"Ravenclaw now in possession of the Quaffle." 

Draco saw another whirl of blue fly by towards the Slytherin goalposts, and twice the number of green tailing behind.

"Get her, you pathetic arseholes!" he shouted at the Chasers. "Knock her off her broom like I told you. Don't let her-" 

"Nice save by the Slytherin Keeper! Slytherin has the Quaffle once again…" 

Draco leaned back, satisfied, on his broom.

_Yes, this should be an easy game. Even if the team was going to ignore everything Draco had demanded of them in practice._

This continued on for the next twenty or so minutes and Draco just spent his time like a decadent playboy in the air- hovering about languidly and shouting appropriate plays at the other Slytherins (which they neglected to use). The one Chaser on the team, Pritchard, had 'accidentally' elbowed a Ravenclaw one off her broomstick and she fell about sixty feet, hard,

rendering the Ravenclaws undermanned by one. Madam Hooch had seen the foul and pulled the third year Slytherin off the field in penalty. Slytherin scored twice more, though, and Ravenclaw faltered with the Quaffle again and again.

_Hmm…the game is going well…_

Then Draco caught sight of a buzz of gold overtop the Gryffindor stands. He took off, a bolt of green lightning and glanced quickly behind himself to see if Chang had seen the Snitch also. 

But she hadn't, and was doing slow, melancholic loops on the opposite side of the pitch, near her own goalposts. _So much for needing to knock** her off her broom.**_

"Slytherin spots the Snitch, and Malfoy is off!" 

Draco lost sight of the Snitch momentarily in the throng of scarlet-clad spectators, as a cloud passed overhead, but he saw it resurface just above Potter' s head.

_God, does he try__ to attract Snitches?_

Leaning forward, he squeezed his thighs against the broom handle, forcing it to go faster. The Ravenclaw Seeker had spotted him going after the Snitch now, but she seemed to be speeding towards it painfully slowly, as though she really couldn't care. This was strange, as she was closer to it than Draco was.

Potter could now see Draco flying straight at him and Draco saw the Gryffindolt gasp and slump down in his seat. The other Gryffindors were ducking too as Draco dipped lower into their midst. His hand was almost touching the little silver wings that hummed right in fr-

Ooof! 

He stumbled into the stands, broom having caught on something, or someone. Or rather, he slammed into Gryffindor, or rather, with a hard impact that hurled Draco's body right on top of Potter's and into the hard wooden bleachers. He was transfixed for a moment, stunned as the Golden Boy stared up, equally stunned, from under the Slytherin, wide-eyed behind his dorky and dirt-flecked glasses. 

Draco opened his fist, Snitch balled up inside, and grinned.

"And Malfoy gets the Snitch! 150 points to Slytherin. Slytherin wins the game!" 

Draco let his focus gaze into Potter's eyes for a moment, losing himself in the same green eyes that had made his knees weak and falter in his dream. He swallowed unconsciously. Potter tried to look away, but Draco's held the other boy's locked in position, and the Slytherin was not about to back down. Draco felt blood pooling down to his groin and he could feel himself stiffen at the sight of those haunting green eyes, like liquid malachite, like the-

Fuck! You're getting hard over _Potter!_

Draco pushed himself off the other boy roughly. He stood up carefully, brushing off his robes and mounting his broom rather awkwardly, though it didn't look like Potter noticed that; he still had the same stunned expression.

"Thanks," Draco smirked off-hand as he flew off to join his team parade around the pitch in a victory flight.

Potter just gaped his mouth widely at Draco. Draco noticed he had a slightly pinker disposition.

Draco also _really hoped that Potter didn't notice his own legs were shaking ever so slightly as he flew off._

Just like in the dream.

The remainder of the week, Draco was the resident hero of Slytherin. At first the stories were that Potter had hidden the Snitch in his robes and Draco had used a  clever Dark Arts charms to reveal it; these soon progressed into much more elaborate ones, involving his apparent sexual romps at the Annual Malfoy Orgy (which in all truth was not until Christmas, and Draco had never been allowed to attend) where he slept  with Voldemort himself before Draco apparently also stole Voldemort's wand and cast a new and previously unknown derivative of a summoning charm on the Snitch. Draco thought that not only was the thought of _anyone sleeping with You-Know-Who stomach-turning, but facetious to think that he himself was incapable of catching the Snitch, as though he had never done so before._

The rumor most likely had started in Gryffindor.

Although, Draco did find it a little odd that the Snitch had to be seen so close to Potter. He didn't say much though, or try to interpret it as more than a coincidence- he wasn't one much for Divination.

Draco was the house hero, nonetheless. 

Pansy would flutter her eyelashes even more frequently every time Draco so much as glanced her way and Blaise actually gave him a quick peck on the lips. Snape gave Slytherin 50 points just for the hell of it and took 20 points away from Gryffindor when Weasley, red-faced, had protested. Several sullen-faced first years approached him for autographs, which Draco politely declined with a haughty chuckle, partially out of annoyance and partially out of the fact that he was afraid of being compared to Potter, who signed them for anyone and vainly hoped his fans would go away. Draco did spend most of the week strutting around like God's greatest gift to the world (or at least Slytherin), which he was, and feeling, well, like some of Potter's brilliance had finally rubbed off on him.

Potter was obviously very peeved at Draco's new and increased smugness. He frowned constantly, more so than he usually did when Draco bothered to smirk or sneer his way. Draco hoped his mouth would fuse that way forever. Pansy swore up and down to Draco one evening that she had even heard the Weasel tell Potter off in the hall one afternoon after their Double Potions class that week.

She was smiling lazily at Draco, perched on the end of his bed, walking her fingers along his thigh. "And then Weasley said something like, erm '…For Crissakes, Harry, let it alone. It wasn't Gryffindor that lost.'" 

"Oh?" Draco inched closer to hear more.

"I think Potty groaned or moaned, or whatever. And then he said something about feeling 'really bad for Chang' because apparently she's sick." 

So that was the reason that Slytherin had won so easily? Draco refused to believe that. _Bullshit, Potter's just making excuses for his silly little bint. _

That Friday, Draco's eagle owl, Iris, brought the customary package of sweets from his parents and a hefty pouch of galleons along with a short letter from his father.

_Draco,_

_I congratulate you on your win against Ravenclaw. I had expected no less from you, especially as team captain. I remind you that this was merely a win, not a success. I doubt, moreover, that the Slytherin team's talents far exceed those of Ravenclaw, rather that the new brooms were the true source of victory. However, I hope that your 'streak of luck' extends to the match against Gryffindor, as I note that you have yet to win a game against their team despite three years of attempts. I hope to be in attendance to watch you play that day, as usual._

_Your mother wished to send you a present for winning. There are twenty-five galleons; spend them prudently._

_Your father_

Draco scowled and crumpled up the paper into a tight ball before tossing it under the table in the Great Hall. It rolled under Millicent Bulstrode's trollish feet unnoticed. He planned to use the money on the following day's trip to Hogsmeade; he was looking forward to it, if only to stock up on Chocolate Frogs and have a butterbeer in the pub with Crabbe and Goyle.

He snorted to himself. _Butterbeer- ha! More like Butterbooze! (With the help from Special Project 'Fermentum Potion'.)_

Later that day, though, Draco had some time in his dorm alone after dinner. Potter had looked up at him during the meal and Draco thought there was a little spot of colour to the Gryffindor's cheeks that wasn't due to the chill in the air. Draco was not happy about this. This whole little Potter _thing was beginning to worry him. First the dream, then the getting hard at the Quidditch game, now this __blushing at him. Something was very wrong with this._

Draco scowled to himself and toyed with a dart in his hand. He threw it at the Harry Potter dartboard on his dorm wall. It hit Potty in the eye and his one lens shattered.

Draco chuckled to himself and threw another. It hit the Gryffindor in the nose. Draco really wanted to hit that bloody scar, though.

He tried again. Nose. _Damn!_

Draco swore that he saw the dart board picture of Potter pucker his lips just then and make kissing noises at Draco.

This was worrisome. Especially seeing that when Draco blinked the image was replaced with the unhappy and uncomfortable picture of Potter that was originally there.

_My mind is playing tricks with me! I need to go to Hogsmeade soon or I'll go completely barmy!_

The next day proved to be a crisp, clear day in mid-October with no rain. The air in the Great Hall was buzzing at breakfast in anticipation of the trip. Draco actually managed to forget about Potter for a while.

On the walk down to the village, Draco stayed close to his two trusted cronies, as Pansy had gone off with her group of girls in hopes to buy new clothes or hair potions or something.  He was glad that he had worn his black wool cloak and striped green and silver scarf (cashmere, his mother had transfigured the wool when he complained that it itched), and his dragonhide gloves. The air was chilly and Draco could see white clouds of his breath fog to his side with every exhalation. The leaves on the trees had begun to turn shades of crimson and scarlet and gold and ochre, all disgustingly Gryffindor colours. Draco didn't like autumn much. It was the Gryffindor season. He much preferred the icy stark colors of winter- he liked to think that was the Slytherin season, with greys and slates and severe whites. This was a bit of a contradiction, though, considering Draco had been born in August, but he chose to ignore this. 

It was also exceptionally annoying when the wind would rustle through the trees. The leaves had a habit of falling into Draco's neatly coifed hair and he was continually picking leaves out of his silver blond strands throughout the walk.

_Definitely the Gryffindor season._

Goyle grunted, laughing at Draco, when he got a large clump of leaf tangled up over his ear.

Draco scowled, brushing out crumpled brown bits. "Shut up, arsewipe," was his response, several times, as Goyle seemed to think it was quite funny the whole while. Crabbe spent the time ogling Tracey Davis' bum.

When they arrived in Hogsmeade after the brisk invigorating morning walk, most of the mass of students made a mad dash in the direction of Zonko's and Honeydukes, or, in Pansy's case, Gladrags, where they were having a sale on imported robes.

But Draco had other plans. "Come on," he said loudly to Crabbe and Goyle as they looked longingly at the variety of sweets through the windows of Honeydukes. He walked over to The Three Broomsticks quickly, as they huffed behind him with the effort. Once they were standing outside the door to the pub, Draco added in a low voice, "We want to try _it out, don't we? The Special Project?" _

Crabbe and Goyle nodded, grinning stupidly and they followed Draco through the doors to the pub, which opened with the chime of a bell over the door. The pub was nearly empty, only a few early-morning middle-aged diehards there, surprising not including the oaf Hagrid. They sat down at a table near the back.

"Bit early for students, isn't it?" Madam Rosmerta asked as she came over to take their orders. "What'll it be?" she asked skeptically, wiping her hands on her stained apron.

Draco pulled out several galleons, more than enough. "Three butterbeers to _start."  He smirked up at her._

Madam Rosmerta looked dubiously at the blond Slytherin at the word 'start', but brought their drinks over, hardly one to refuse a paying customer.

Goyle made to grab one of the mugs, but Draco slapped him away, glaring. "Just wait." 

Madam Rosmerta slowly trotted off behind swinging doors into the backrooms of the pub.

"Good," Draco said in a hushed voice, and leaned close to the other two boys, "I thought she'd never leave. You have it Crabbe?" 

"Yeah," Crabbe grunted, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid from his cloak pocket that was

plugged with a stopper.

For the past month, Crabbe had been distilling alcohol under his bed with pilfered Potions ingredients (Snape blamed Potter for the missing supplies) and Draco had grand intentions to use it all.

The blond boy snatched the flask of alcohol from Crabbe's greedy hands and checked over his shoulder suspiciously. The other patrons hardly paid him any attention. The witch was scarce.

_Good. _

He poured a generous quantity into each of the three mugs before handing one to each Crabbe and Goyle. "Cheers, boys!" He held his mug up and they clinked them together, snickering amongst themselves.

Draco downed the laced butterbeer in large gulps. It burned as it slid down his throat and he nearly choked and coughed and retched it back up, but the fuzzy feeling inside was comforting. The alcohol was strong stuff and coupled with the creamy butterbeer warmed him up instantly. He could feel his stomach lining tingling pleasantly all the way through.

"Good work, Crabbe," he grinned and Goyle agreed, butterbeer dripping down his cloak face. Draco rolled his eyes at that, but couldn't be bothered to tell him off. He continued on his own butterbeer.

The alcohol managed to last two more rounds by which time Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were grinning and sniggering and tipping over quite frequently. Madam Rosmerta must have wondered what they had snuck into the drinks because she flat-out refused to serve them any more. She was watching them suspiciously, and Draco saw this.

"Let's go." He smiled broadly at the other two and slid bonelessly off his stool to the floor with a thud. He giggled, standing up, and staggered out the door.

_Screw being a graceful Malfoy right now. I'm too buzzed to care.  _

They made their way to Honeydukes next, pushing through the crowds of the first-time third years; the younger students were wide-eyed and dangerously vexingly slow. The three Slytherins spent some time examining the Fizzing Whizbees dizzily. They bought whatever sweets they laid hands on, which happened to include gummy maggots and blood-favored lollipops. Not caring exactly what they had purchased, they left the shop with huge, alcohol-glazed pupils, still chortling periodically. A group of fourth (or fifth?) year Hufflepuffs gave them disapproving looks before Draco stuck his tongue out at them and fell to the ground in a fit of laughter.

"I'm telling you, Ron, it's not haunted." A familiar voice wafted by, oblivious to Draco and his goons, who were standing haphazardly nearby and swaying with the breeze, or was it the alcohol?

"Yes, it still is, Harry." Weasley. Even drunk, Draco could recognize their voices anywhere. "I'll bet you…three Licorice Wands." 

"Deal." Potter and the Weasel began to walk down the main road in the village, past the other shops and cottages and towards where the Shrieking Shack sat on a hill, abandoned, dark and desolate.

Draco's eyes lit up like a Lumos charm at midnight, and he stumbled after the Gryffindorks, careful to maintain a good distance. Goyle and Crabbe looked at each other before obediently lumbering alongside Draco. 

Draco managed to reach the Shack before Potter and Weasley. He grinned to himself and ducked down behind a ratty-looking bush near the dilapidated house. It might have once been the part of a garden. Crabbe and Goyle staggered loudly up behind him, shuffling.

"Get down, you lugs" he hissed, and they complied, giggling in their own chest-rumbling way. "And be quiet!"

Draco could see Potter and Weasley walking up the opposite side of the hill, wading through the dense undergrowth that was probably a lawn at some point.

"Ron, you _honestly didn't see him. You couldn't have. Why would he be in Hogsmeade anyway?" _

"I swear I saw him, Harry. I swear." 

Draco nodded silently to Crabbe and Goyle and slipped into the Shrieking Shack through a shattered glass window that had never bothered to be repaired. They followed him in through the house, squeezing their bulks through awkwardly. Draco could hear the sounds of robes tearing on the shards of glass still imbedded in the windowsill. The Slytherins crouched under the window ledge, mindful of the spider webbing everywhere. Draco pulled off his gloves, which were covered in the sticky webs, and set them down. Potter and Weasley were approaching- their voices were loader.

"I'm not going in there," Weasley grumbled uncertainly.

Potter's voice was even closer. "There's _no ghosts, Ron. Just a creaking old building. Nearly Headless Nick is full of rubbish." _

"Who is Nearly Headless Nick?" Draco mouthed to Crabbe and Goyle. A Gryffindor ghost? 

They both shrugged, unknowing and not understanding what Draco had asked.

Draco grinned at Crabbe and Goyle and let out his best ghastly moan and. "Oooo…I'm a ghost…" He waved his arms emphatically, though Potter wouldn't be able to see his dramatics.

"What was that?" Weasley hissed, his voice rising.

"The wind. C'mon Ron, help me move this panel in the door." Draco could hear Potter grunting with effort and old, rotten wood crumbling and cracking

"Oooo…staaay awaaay…"  Draco wailed piteously. It was fun pretending to be a ghost and even more amusing drunk.

Footsteps could be heard trotting off hastily, and then a plank of wood crashed to the ground. 

"Wait! Ron, don't run away just yet! It was a creak in the floor, you idiot." 

"No, I- I saw a spider." 

Draco couldn't make out the muffled noises that followed.

"No, over there." 

"Oh, that one's tiny. How could it be scary?" 

Draco couldn't help it- Weasley afraid of spiders? That was priceless. He let out a stifled laugh that he blocked with the sleeve of his cloak, right before-

-a hand grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him out of his hiding space. He legs caught the window ledge and he landed on a weedy patch of grass in a not-so dignified heap.

Potter frowned at Draco, clearly not amused. "Nice try, Malfoy. Very funny." 

Draco gave him a lop-sided smirk and giggled again. "Scare you, Potter?" he asked hopefully. Crabbe and Goyle had started sniggering as well. After climbing through the window sill, they started wandering around the neglected garden like the drunken lugs they were.

"You wish." Potter rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose as though there were something foul under it, filling the air with a rank smell. "Malfoy, are you drunk?" 

Draco blinked a couple of times, letting the question sink in. "No," he slurred as he staggered over to grope the remains of a dying tree for balance. "What would make you think that?" He flashed a silly grin.

"I can smell it on you." 

"Oh," Draco continued to grin. "Sorry Potter, we didn't save you any." 

_Even drunk I can make decent come-backs! Take that, Wonder Boy! _

Potter grabbed Draco's cloak sleeve. Draco didn't recoil and he let the Gryffindork pull him down the hill to meet Weasley at the bottom. He nearly tripped over his own feet several times, too. 

When the Weasel saw the Slytherin, he took a threatening step forward and drew his wand. He was glaring all the while at Draco.

 "Wait'll McGonagall sees this, Ron. Malfoy's _drunk." He gestured at the blond-haired boy with his free hand. _

Weasley narrowed his eyes, but his curses went unnoticed by the Slytherin. Draco frowned. "Am not, you twits," he stumbled over his words. "Well…" Draco thought about it, "maybe just…slightly." 

Weasley laughed darkly. "This is too good, Harry. Brilliant!" He was smirking in a self-satisfied Gryffindor kind of way.

Draco straightened, eyes betraying more malice than drunkenness. "And just wait'll the Potions class hears your effeminate and pathetic screams when I 'accidentally' let loose a jar of spiders on Thursday. I can't wait myself." 

The Weasel's face fell like a ton of bricks. He turned as red as his hair and scowled. "Fuck you, Malfoy."

Potter's green eyes widened and he removed his wand from his pocket. "You wouldn't." He glanced at Draco's expression and shook his head, sighing. "How about…" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "How about a deal." He jabbed his wand towards Draco. "You keep your mouth shut about Ron and we won't say anything about _this." _

Draco sneered, groping for his own wand somewhere in his pocket. "I don't make deals." Then he abruptly tumbled over onto his arse in the moist earth.

Potter peered down at him, wand still pointed at Draco. "Oh?"

Draco groaned in frustration. Thinking was not working too well, nor was speaking. "Damnit, Potter, I can't think in this state." Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Fine," he spat at last. "Fine. Whatever." He moved to sit up, but he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. "Let me up." 

The pressure left his shoulder. "Alright then- _Sobrietus!" Teal ribbons of light shot out of the end of the Gryffindor's wand and hit Draco squarely in the chest. He passed out with a dull thud._

~~~~~~~~~~~

Until he felt the distinct and vivid sensation of his head being pummeled into mush by a hammer in his brains, Draco thought that Potter had only stupefied him. He groaned in agony. His throat was dry and he had a horrible aftertaste of…rotten butterbeer? and curdled milk in his mouth. That alone was enough to make him throw up.

Bang. Bang! The hammer banged harder. 

_Bang! And harder still._

Ugh. Draco whimpered and writhed around on the ground, curled up in a piteous ball.

Finally, Draco managed to pry his eyes open. This turned out to be a terrible mistake as he immediately and very violently threw up on the ground his limbs shaking with the force of his heaving. His stomach seemed as though it could never fully empty itself and he heaved again, feeling as though he were truly puking his guts out. 

But the look on Weasley's face, in addition to discovering that Weasley was petrified (literally, Draco hoped) of spiders, was very much worth it.

**Author's Note: The title for this chapter comes (shamelessly) from the Jimmy Eat World song "Believe in What You Want" from their album Clarity.**

Butterbooze will forever belong to Rhysenn. It needs no explanation.

Much thanks to all those who have reviewed so far. I am eternally grateful for them. Thanks to Kimby, especially, for the fingernails.

And even more thanks to Jive (Catriona) for the beta work, chatting and for loffing Jason Isaacs as much as I do. Thank you Jive!


	4. Cadence

**Title: **The Subtle Knife (4/23)

**Author:** Ociwen

**Author E-mail:** ociwen@hotmail.com

**Category:** drama, slash

**Rating:** R (Be warned there are **heterosexual situations in this chapter)**

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Summary:** In his sixth year, when Draco is given a mysterious dagger by his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat? Chapter four, featuring Pansy, pug dogs, illegal substances and letters from home.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Chapter 4: Cadence**

****

Ah, Halloween. Only two days away…

Draco loved Halloween, possibly more than Christmas. But then, who didn't love Christmas and all the gift-getting? Draco himself always had a large stack of presents from his family. Halloween though…

It was his favorite holiday. He loved the décor at Hogwarts- the floating pumpkins that were ghoulishly carved with their gaping triangle eye sockets and jagged mouths, the life-like bat charms that flitted throughout the classroom corridors (with the added benefit of being guano-free), the massive spiders' webs that seemed to manifest themselves in every corner (even though they clung to Draco's robes like really severe dandruff), especially down in the dungeons. He loved the packages of extra sweets his mother would send from home and he loved the Halloween feast.

He loved, most of all, that Halloween made him forget things. The presence of ghosts and goblins and werewolves and vampires permeated the air with an intoxicating brew of horror and delight. Draco could forget how much the Gryffindorks as a whole annoyed him, his (impending) initiation into the ranks of the Death Eaters, and him_._

Most of all, _him_.

Draco also forgot most of the events of the remaining afternoon that first weekend of the year in Hogsmeade. He vaguely recalled, after spending the better part of an hour puking and dry-heaving all over the stubbly, dying grass, stumbling back up to Hogwarts. Luckily, his disappearance went unnoticed. He ended up crawling into his bed where Pansy cooed over him and nursed his skull-shattering headache with a potion sent by her mother. A light all-healing snog was also appreciated.

Draco wasn't sure if Snape knew what Crabbe, Goyle and he had done, or, for that matter, even acknowledged it, but the Potions Master hadn't been too impressed by _something. He glared at Draco for the better part of the following week in class and in their frequent passing in the dungeons. Although, given the back-up choices, Snape would have never gone as far as to take away Draco's prefecture. Draco had the last laugh over this._

The majority of the memories from that day were of the pounding pain, however, and Draco reminded himself never, _ever_ to do that again. 

It was a Tuesday, before dinner and Draco was passing the time curled up in his bed. The weather was getting colder and the sun setting earlier by the day. He had several candles floating around his room lazily, bathing it in a faint glow. He was reading a book that he had swiped out of his father's library over the summer- _The Moriens Curse: Less Deadly and Less Illegal than the Unforgivables. It was actually a rather enjoyable read, if a bit heavy on the content and wording. He was completely absorbed in a detailed section about the debilitating pain and nerve-splitting anguish it put the victim through (complete with colour picture and caption about the bursting blisters and chaffing, red, raw skin that peeled back slowly, exposing muscle and bone to the air) that he didn't hear someone enter his room and sit down on the bed beside him._

"Draco?"

He jumped a little, startled by the interruption, but maintained his Malfoy composure as always. "Oh, it's you, Pansy." Draco nonchalantly set down the book on the table by the head of his bed, next to the dagger he had left there earlier. He then picked up the glass of water he had sitting there and took a quick sip. The air was a lot drier in the autumn.

Pansy gave him a devious smile, and unbuttoned the top button of his white school shirt. Draco had removed his jumper earlier in favor of one his mother had bought in the spring for him. Pansy followed the action with a second button, then a third. Then she stopped.

Draco scowled vexingly at her. "What are you doing? Why are you stopping?" he snarled. He took her well-manicured hand and placed it on the next button. "I'm waiting," he said impatiently. 

She laughed, hairspray-stiff brown curls flying in her face, and she pushed him down onto his back before she crawled over top of him, straddling his stomach. Draco's shirt, half-buttoned, bunched itself up around her hips. Pansy playfully pinned his wrists under her own, then ran her tongue along his lower lip slowly. The chill of her saliva meeting the cold air of his dorm prickled his lip. Draco shivered involuntarily and kissed her back sharply, biting her own lip sharply between his teeth in mock-revenge. He hoped it would be painfully arousing for the girl.

It must have been. She gave a throaty moan and poked her tongue into his mouth where Draco playfully nipped at it with his teeth. He knew that Pansy detested when he did that, but in a strange way, loved it all the same. His fingers were pulling her grey sweater over her head and he was pleased to encounter that Pansy had left her bra in her own dorm again. Draco hooked the back of her calf with his ankle and flipped them over.

She laughed shrilly. "Have I left you that deprived of sex recently? Aren't we eager today?"

Draco growled. Pansy resumed pawing at his belt as he undid his shirt roughly and slipped it off. Her hands ran through his hair, tousling it and this annoyed Draco to no end. He pulled back from her mouth.

"Don't," he said sharply. "I've told you _not_ to touch my hair."

Pansy pouted, sticking out her darkened lip, obviously wanting to be kissed again, but Draco ignored her. Instead, he tugged off her skirt, ripping the seam at the side, and sucked and bit the flesh along her neck, which tasted horribly of that bitter orange perfume she doused herself in. Draco grimaced at it and stuck out his tongue. Pansy wrapped her legs crab-like around his and forced off his trousers; Draco tugged at one of her engorged nipples with his teeth at the same time, knowing it would get her hot and bothered, or at least bothered. She ran her own hands along his back, scraping harshly in the way she knew he liked.  

She hissed in pain. "Stop that, Draco." She slipped off his silk boxers, freeing him finally.

Draco managed to shove a hand under the waistband of her purple lace panties and yanked them off before resuming to roughly kiss his way down her exposed chest.

Pansy arched wantonly against him, kneading his shoulders. "No!" she cried.

Draco looked up, willing very much to reverse roles. Change was good every so often. He drawled impatiently placing a lazy hand on her inner thigh, "What?"

The girl squeezed herself out from underneath his weight and stared him down with her small, dark eyes. "On your back." she commanded.

Draco snorted and raised an eyebrow, but complied. "Haven't done this in a while," he mumbled as Pansy stroked him expertly in just the right places before nibbling at his jugular, feeling the blood pulse faster under his pale skin.

"Only if 'a while' counts as 'a few days'." She licked his ear lobe, fingering his sternum seductively, refusing to dip her nail lower still.

"Fuck, Pansy, get down there!" he groaned in frustration as she neglected a most-vital organ.

She grinned up at Draco and scooted down like an obedient pet, or wife. Her tongue dipped around his navel in swift circles, then below, and over his hard cock repeatedly. Draco yanked at her hair- he was certain he was hurting her-

_Good. Pain _should_ be a turn on to Slytherins._

- as she scraped her teeth painfully slowly across its length and he felt himself grow even harder, painfully so. Draco was thrusting into her face mechanically, desperate for release, but she ignored him this time and sat _on top of his ache, straddling herself above it. She was rubbing her sweet spot against him again and again, moaning out his name as she did so and he squeezed and squashed her breasts under his hands, assaulting her nipples._

With a flex of her hips, she slipped suddenly and Draco fell into place with a satisfied grunt. He laughed and Pansy scowled and he thrust deeper into her, eliciting a moan in unison from both of them. Pansy fell forward, leaning over top of Draco, her hair scratching his face. Her hands were on either side, cushioning her weight and she rocked her hips in rhythm with his own. Pansy ran her tongue along his pointed jaw and Draco looked up to her eyes, his own glazed over as orbs of silver.

A dog stared back. A pug. An ugly, wrinkling, smushy-faced beady-eyed dog.

He blinked, but it was till there. He blinked a second time, and again nothing but the dog.

Draco screamed in horror and the dog pulled away from his face, breathe still hot and feral, laughing with its tongue drooping below its chin. "Like that, do you?" it barked and then licked his face again.

Somewhere, in the back of Draco's mind, a voice was telling him that he was seeing things, that it was his imagination. A very disturbed imagination at that. But his brain registered a dog face where Pansy's own should have been.

"Ugh! Get off!" he shouted, frantically trying to push the dog-faced girl off his body and dislodge himself from her, but her weight rivaled his own and she remained as fixed in place as ever. It was too gross to fathom going any further. Draco was suddenly and completely unimpassioned. It was _fucking a dog_!

Beady eyes, black, looked down at him in confusion. The pupils totally obscuring whatever iris they may have had.

"Get off me!" he screamed again, pushing hysterically at its body, which was unmoving. "Get out! Get out!" The Common Room down the corridor would be able to hear his banter through Draco's closed door. It didn't matter.

"I…I can't- not yet," the dog-girl begged and thrust against him again in desperation. "Let me finish."

Draco couldn't take it any longer. It was too disgusting. Nasty. He was _not into bestiality. He groped frantically for his wand on the bed-side table and pointed it at the she-bitch Who Was Pansy. "_Reducto_!" he shouted. ****_

Pansy was finally pulled off him and she few across the room, hitting Draco's trunk with a sickening crack. Draco saw her face flicker with the pug's, but the dog's returned, whimpering, with human hands covering its canine face.

"Get out!" he yelled at her. "I never want to see you again!" Draco felt so revolted. So dirty. Dirtier than a Mudblood could ever feel.

Dog-Pansy was in a frenzy, groping for her clothes and managed to slip on her underwear and jumper, but…

_She wasn't leaving!_

Draco grabbed the remaining things from the other side of his bed and hurled them at her A glass of water, half-emptied. A Charms textbook. A lone sock. A bottle of moisturizer. His eyes were blazing in disgust and anger and the bitch cried out again when they hit her repeatedly like shrapnel.

"Get. Out," he said through clenched teeth in a low voice, but Pansy stood there shaking. "Get out!" Draco hollered at her again, shaking with a combination of rage and utter disgust. She finally ran out, like a dog with its tail tucked behind itself miserably, only Draco saw brown curls flapping this time.

Draco flopped backwards onto his bed. He closed his eyes, groaning in disgust. _What the hell was that? He was just fucking Pansy, merrily minding his own business until…that _thing_ appeared instead. Draco growled in frustration. If it had been Peeves playing a sick joke then the Baron would here of it immediately. _

He still had a raging, aching hard-on that _needed_ to be sated. His thoughts left him. Draco pulled on a silk robe and walked off to the showers to wank off and finish what needed to be done. Wash off the dog-smell that lingered in his imaginative nostrils.

Strangely enough, though, Potter's face flashed before Draco's eyes as he climaxed in the shower. This new image only made him come harder, so much so that he nearly blacked out with the _force_ of it. Potter just had to pervade _everything_. But his face was, if not a little shocking, a welcome break from that disgusting bitch-dog.

There was a hesitant knock on the door to his room sometime later. Crabbe and Goyle had obviously taken the hint with the yelling and left Draco to stew on his own, mostly about Pansy, not Potter, though. He stared up at the aging forest-green canopy of his bed, hands behind his head. He really didn't want to deal with other people just yet, but he didn't refuse their entrance.

It wasn't Crabbe and Goyle, nor was it Pansy. Draco could tell that much as he heard the familiar sashaying up to his bed. He sat up, and Blaise looked sadly down at him. She was dressed in a pretty red taffeta skirt with her hair pulled up loosely, some flyaway strands sticking out.

They were silent for a moment, and then Blaise sighed.

"Going out or coming back?" Draco asked wearily, not that he really cared. She was at a rendezvous with a professor, no doubt.

The corners of the girl's mouth twitched, red from her lipstick and swollen. "I cam back an hour ago," she paused, "…to listen to a crying and pitiful-sounding girl sobbing her tragic life story to Millicent and Tracy and Queenie. Then she started pigging out on crisps."

Draco nodded slowly into his pillow. "Ah…but I thought you weren't friends with them. Why are you telling me this?"

Blaise snorted. "I'm not. They just want me to sympathize with Pansy." She gave Draco a long and drawn out appraising look.

Draco flinched under the azure eyes. _No, _Draco told himself, _Blaise wouldn't make me feel guilty. Pansy had been pug-faced, for fuck's sake. Pug-faced like the Weasel and Potty and the Mudblood had always said…_

_Potter!_

It had to be him! He put a hex on Draco. That explained the Snitch and the hard-ons and everything else. Oh, he was going to pay…The vitriol flared in Draco's eyes. It must have been a spell, designed to throw the Slytherin off. A nasty spell at that.

Blaise had evidently noticed his change in expression. "Don't." she warned him, scowling. "Whatever you're thinking about doing, don't."

Draco sneered at the wall and silence lapsed once more. He didn't need to be told what not to do by a teacher's whore. 

Blaise brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt. "What was that all about? Pansy was wailing like it was the end of the world. She says that you don't ever want to see her again."

The Slytherin Slut wouldn't understand the vision of the dog-faced girl on top of him that he had seen. "Bloody right she is." 

She looked at Draco, worry and reassurance in her eyes at once. "I hope you're okay-"

He snorted in defiance. Blaise was stupid. Sexy, but stupid, which was why she had resorted to sleeping with half of her teachers (it was rumoured).

"Go take a walk, then, Draco." she said finally. "Clear your mind and all."

She left stiffly, without her hips swaying. It looked strangely natural that way. Draco could tell by her gait that she wasn't pleased. She just walked carefully out the door and closed it behind herself on her way to dinner, or another shag with a professor.

Draco didn't go down to dinner that night, but late in the evening he did pull out his own Invisibility Cloak. He had acquired it after complaining to his father all summer before his fifth year about Potter having one. Lucius probably only gave it to his son to shut him up. Regardless of the reason, Draco had one now. He slipped past a group of fourth years playing 'Pin the Brain on the Muggle' in the Common Room and slithered out the doorway into the main dungeons corridor.

Normally, Draco wouldn't have used his cloak; he was a prefect and could go where he pleased without excuses, but he wanted to be left alone, _really _alone, for the time being. There were a number of Slytherins wandering the hallways that evening and Draco had to slink along the far walls, pressing his body tightly against them to avoid detection. Crabbe and Goyle were returning from dinner late along with Millicent Bulstrode. Draco sucked in a breath and squashed his body as closely into the damp, cold wall as he could, hoping that Goyle's wide berth wouldn't brush into him. He really _did not_ want to talk with anyone just yet, except maybe to curse Potter for hexing his former? girlfriend.

But Goyle missed him, by mere inches. Draco had always thought Goyle was a little larger than he was.

"Poor Pansy," he heard Millicent say. "She said Draco just…snapped. That he went _crazy."_

Crabbe and Goyle nodded empathetically. Draco thought that Goyle fancied her, but he wasn't positive. Goyle was too thick to be sure of much. 

Millicent continued, "Has he been acting weird lately? Barmy at all? Nutters?"

Crabbe shook his head as the group of them turned a corner in the hallway.

"Well, keep an eye on him for Pansy. I'm really…" her alto voice drifted away into the mildewy stone buttresses above their heads. 

Draco didn't know exactly where he was going, but out onto the castle grounds seemed to hold an appeal to him, if only to vent his problems to the night sky. Plenty of air out there. He emerged from the dungeons no through the main floor, but through a little-used trap door that led out to the Forbidden Forest. He had discovered it in his first year. He guessed that the door had been there for centuries and it was nice to have a secret entrance of his own (like Potter and pals probably did).

He might have intended to wander into the Forest (just a little ways) to scare his wits back into himself, but he noticed the Great Oaf in his garden, picking pumpkins that were to decorate the Great Hall.

Draco scowled. _Stupid freak, spoiling everything._ He didn't want to be caught by Hagrid, even though he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. Better safe than Giant's fodder. Besides, he was alone- no Crabbe or Goyle- and giants eat children, even grown men. His father had warned him of that when he was a child. If the oaf wasn't a giant (Draco wasn't too sure) then he must like to eat children like Draco anyways to satisfy his enormous appetite anyway. Besides, Draco liked to think he was a tasty morsel himself.

He looked around for some place relatively isolated to go and be alone. The Astronomy Tower? No, too many fifth years snogging there. The lake? No, the giant squid had been creeping close to shore this past week. The Quidditch pitch might work, providing Potter and friends weren't up there practicing for their November game with Hufflepuff. Draco had overheard in Potions that they had been doing that most nights of the week.

_They sure as hell need the practice, _he thought. _Pathetic Gryffindolts._

Draco breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped onto the darkened field and the scum of Hogwarts wasn't there. He crept around one end of the pitch, the Hufflepuff stands which were the furthest away from the castle, near the goal posts and sat down. He was still holding his cloak protectively around himself. He sighed and rested his chin in his hands.

_What the hell was going on?_

He looked up around the pitch, unfocused and bleakly. It was cold out that night and he cursed himself for not wearing anything warmer than his school shirt and slacks, tie half-falling off. Why he had bothered to put it back on after the episode with _it was beyond him._

He knew he hadn't been able to think properly that evening.

A muffled cough was heard about twenty feet to his right and a plume of powder blue smoke rose up from a void. Perplexed, Draco crept over on his toes and jabbed at the air with a finger, startling himself and the other person when he hit solid flesh. He jumped back.

The person turned, only half-concealed by a respective Invisibility Cloak. It was The-Boy-Who-Lived. His expression changed from confused and vacant to mild annoyance when he recognized Draco.

"Malfoy."

"Hullo Potter." Draco gave into the sick urge to sit next to the Gryffindor. Draco pulled his legs up to his chest for warmth. "Shove over, would you?" Potter moved grudgingly. Draco grinned and looked the Gryffindor in his green eyes and then lingered on his neck.

Potter began to twitch uncomfortably and looked away towards the Forbidden Forest to the west. "Would you stop? You're staring at me _again."_

Draco snapped his eyes away. Not that he was staring at Potter's chest anyway. "Not much to stare at anyway." Draco could feel his cheeks begin to tingle at this little fib, but he went on. "Anything you might have- which I doubt you do- it's all hidden under your baggy robes. You have a chunk of dinner on them, did you know that?" A little piece of carrot had been ground onto the collar of Potter's shirt.

"Sod off." Potter turned away and coughed again.

The Slytherin smirked and noticed a flash of glowing malachite necklace on the Golden Boy's neck. _The_ necklace. "Where'd you get _that_?" he said disdainfully. It was obviously a woman's necklace and the prat was too dumb to even realize that. He looked ridiculous in it.

"What?"

Draco rolled his eyes. _Honestly. "The necklace, dimwit."_

"Oh, I found it!" Potter looked proud and pleased with himself for a moment before returning to his strange vacuous expression.

Draco's eyebrows rose_ but he left it at that. He clamped his mouth shut to prevent himself from making a retort about Potter being a fag for wearing that poncy piece of jewelry. Draco vividly recalled his thoughts from the previous few weeks about the other boy._

Potter had his back turned to him and smoke clouds ascended from the other side. A sweet, disgusting, burning stench permeated the inkiness that was Potter and his cloak. Why anyone would still need an Invisibility Cloak late at night on an empty Quidditch pitch was beyond him.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked dryly. There was no hint of malice in his voice or sarcasm even. He genuinely wanted to know.

"What does it look like?" Potter turned around a little so that he was solid flesh again. He held out his hand, a smoldering roll of paper wedged between his lips and two fingers. 

Draco realized that Potter was smoking a Muggle cigarette, although it smelled a little different than the ones he had ever been near. He had seen one once, in France, with a group of avant-garde young wizards and witches. It wasn't one of the better experiences of his life, either. Especially when the one witch had offered him one to try. Draco had refused. It was a Muggle habit, after all, but the smell of simply being around the cigarette had clung to his body for days.

"That's disgusting!" His mouth curled up in a sneer. "What would your beloved Gryffindorks say? Saint Potter smoking cigarettes?"

Potter exhaled a puff of dark smoke and smirked, rivaling one of Draco's own. His pupils obscured the greenness of his eyes and made his glasses look even more owlish than usual. "I'm not innocent, and _they _don't_ know. Besides," he added with a strange and silly grin, "it's_ not_ a cigarette."_

Draco smirked back. "Oh? Then what is it?" He knew what a cigarette looked like. The stupid git was pulling his leg.

Potter leaned a little closer and snorted a plume of smoke through his nose, then swiftly coughed again. "It's a Muggle _joint_." he said in a low whisper, not that anyone else was in the vicinity. His eyes were shifting guiltily and he had a grin on his face.

Draco didn't know what this was. He stared blankly, but tried not to make his naivety apparent.

Potter gave a silly little giggle. "I'm smoking _marijuana_, idiot."

_Oh. _

Draco did know what that was. He vaguely recalled something about it from Herbology, that it was good for healing spells and clairvoyance and that it was a dangerous hallucinogen. Even Hufflepuffs or the Dark Lord's followers weren't daft enough to smoke it.

Only Potter could be.

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter's little admission and smirked back at the Gryffindor. _Let him do stupid things to himself then._

"Why are you talking to me?" Potter asked, puffing away cheerfully. Unusually, he wasn't bothered by Draco's presence. The hallucinogen was working well on the other boy. He seemed so much more laid back and mellow this way. Draco could get used to _this Harry Potter._

Draco was chewing absently on his thumb, peeling the fingernail back with his teeth. _Because I've been thinking lurid thoughts about you daily of late. "Better than talking to myself, I suppose."_

"That's not an answer. We hate each other, Malfoy. I'm not high enough to forget that." He inhaled his rolled up 'joint' again, glancing over to the Slytherin boy. "Wait! You do that? You bite your fingernails?"

Draco didn't answer, but his scowl told Potter everything he needed to know. "I don't know what you're talking about Potter. That stuff is getting to your head."

Potter just smiled anyways. "All right then."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, absorbing the cool autumn air that smelled of Potter's 'joint' and crisp leaves. They had run out of civil things to say, but neither made any attempt to move. Potter puffed on his smoldering piece of cannabis and Draco stared off into the nighttime space, trying not to breathe the fumes in too much. This was hard as the smoke made a habit of wafting in his direction. His throat was being tickled from the inside-out, uncomfortably.__

At last the smoke was too overpowering and Draco had to cough; the fumes were drying out his throat. "Why are you doing that?" he croaked none-too eloquently. He cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"Smoking up? I do it once in a while." Potter frowned and squished the butt underneath his old trainer.

"Mmm…" Draco raised an eyebrow. 

Potter laughed, a little nervously, and wrung his hands into the Invisibility Cloak that still covered much of his figure, including the larger portion of his chest. "Don't ask…" Draco eyed the other boy skeptically, waiting for an answer. Eventually Potter let out a sigh of defeat. "Sometimes I just…you can't imagine how much of a burden I have- or rather, the Boy Who Lived has…I just…" he turned a little red around the cheeks and looked down to the ground.

It hit Draco like an Unforgivable. "You just want to be Harry."

Potter nodded uncomfortably and looked off into the night environs. Draco slipped back into disdain, deciding it was a good time to talk about something different if he didn't want Potter to walk off and leave suddenly. "Where did you get it? The herb? Are those Weasleys trying to grow some- pay off their debts and all?

Draco received a blurry glare from the Gryffindor. Weasley-bashing was frowned upon even by a high** Potter. "I…borrowed it from someone."**

"Borrowed? To use up?"

The dark-haired boy groaned. "Erm, yes…someone…someone like my cousin," he said quietly, but with conviction.

"And this Muggle relative of yours let you _borrow_ it so that you could sneak it outside and smoke up?"

Potter's cheeks burned and he mumbled, "Not exactly- it doesn't matter, Malfoy!" 

Draco grinned at the flustered boy. This was too good. Potter, the thief! "You stole it," he accused and gave a gasp of feigned surprise.

Potter's eyes widened with worry. "I transfigured some normal grass as a placemat- replacement so he doesn't know," he stammered, "E-every time. He hasn't noticed. He knows I can't do magic over the summer hols."

Draco nearly brought a finger to Potter's lips to silence the boy, but thought it would be very strange and out-of-character (and not to mention, camp!), so he stopped himself. "Our little secret," he drawled; now he had even more blackmail against Potter. They were even over the Oculus Potion incident on September first. 

Potter tried to change the subject quickly, "You weren't at dinner,"

"You noticed?" Draco asked conversationally, a little taken aback.

Potter flushed a little. Draco was really beginning to like the effect he seemed to be having on the Gryffindor's nerves. The scarlet in his cheeks was rather becoming for Potter. "No, not really…well, you didn't try to trip me or sneer at me or tell me how perfect I am- sarcastically, of course." He looked over expectantly to the Slytherin boy.

He groaned. He did _not want to talk about the incident with Pansy with Potter of all people, especially since he was probably involved. Potter…involved…and he was high. This was the perfect opportunity to find out how the git did it._

Potter's bright green and ostensibly innocent eyes bored into Draco's like a basilisk's. "Is it true that you lost it? In the middle of…" He waved his hands wildly, gesticulating _something emphatically. His face was wrinkled up in disgust. "…with _Pansy_? Pug-girl?"_

That did it for Draco. That Potter would joke about something so vile and mind-scarring. How could Draco ever have sex with Pansy again without seeing _the dog? He shot up and glared furiously at the twit with his hands clenched. "Would you all stop fucking bothering me about it? You weren't there! You don't know what _you_ did to me!"_

_Now confess, you dork!___

Potter's eyes darkened. "Did what, exactly, to you, Malfoy?" he asked uneasily.

"Don't play innocent with me, Potter! I don't fall for it like everyone else does," Draco hissed. "I _know you slipped me something."_

Potter scowled blankly back at the Slytherin. He suddenly seemed quite sober. "Don't start blaming me for _your failed relationships, Malfoy. I didn't do anything to you; I am not that low." He stared Draco down, albeit a little spaced-looking, but he certainly didn't look away._

_Potter didn't know. The look on his face- his face is an open book._

So, Potter didn't know. He didn't do anything. He wasn't there and he wouldn't have understood what Draco had seen. Draco could tell that the other boy had inched away perceptibly from himself and was trembling (with rage? Annoyance? Fear?) at his outburst.

Draco sat down again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling stupid with himself. How Hufflepuffs lived their days like this was beyond his comprehension.

"What?" Potter looked perplexed again.

"What?" Now Draco was equally confused.

"You just apologized to me," He snorted a little. "I didn't know that I was worthy of being counted as a person in your awe-inspiring presence Malfoy." He gave Draco yet another foolish grin and Draco felt relieved.

"I believe you're thinking of the opposite there, Potter." Draco stifled a low laugh. "Sorry, though, for giving you the wrong impression." He leaned in closer, enough to feel the warmth radiating from Potter's body. The Gryffindor's presence was addictive, like fingernail biting. "Because you're not- _worthy, that is. I just wasn't thinking."_

Draco was caught up in thinking of some witty comeback to say to Potter's expected, '_Since when do you ever think?' when he heard something very different._

"There! You did it again." Potter laughed diabolically. Draco grinned at the absurdity of it. "You said 'sorry' again!"

"Oh, sod off, scarhead!" Draco was back on familiar ground now.

"You sod off! I was here first."

"Well, I'm a more important person than you are. Heir to the Malfoy family fortune and all."

"I'm the bloody Boy Who Loved!" ****

"What?" Draco spun around, not believing his ears. His mouth hung open.

"I said 'I'm the bloody Boy Who Lived'!" Potter pushed Draco over playfully and they both began to laugh after a stiff silence. It felt a bit uncomfortable and forced. Something was hanging in the air, unsaid or undone.

"Well, I'm leaving." Potter stood up, grass clinging to him and covered the cloak over all but his head. The head floating in the air brought memories back from Draco's third year. If only there was mud to throw at _Potter_'s head this time.

"Why are you announcing it to me, then?" He smirked, shakily though, suddenly remembering the eyes from his dream. "Like I give a toss."

"I'm not," he said as he walked off, a head floating in the darkness.

"Might want to cover your head there, Potter," Draco called out. He saw the head duck under the cloak fully, unseen to all now. Or unseen at least to the Slytherin boy and the empty evening air.

_Why did I just say that to him?_ He shrugged to himself, uncertain. Something had nagged Draco from the back of his head that he really _did know why. _

He disregarded the thought and walked off in another direction, his own head floating unknowingly in the night.

Draco slept relatively peacefully that night. His dream had only fleeting glimpses of messy black hair and emerald eyes and a girly silver necklace and he had completely forgotten Pansy after his conversation with Potter the night before. Blaise had been right after all about the fresh air clearing his mind. He'd have to try it more often.

However, talking with Potter…

_It had been strangely civil for once, _Draco thought as he wandered down into the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. It didn't help matters that Potter hadn't been behind his strange hallucinations of Pansy, as he had no idea of who might have been- didn't the Triumvirate usually work together? So that ruled out the Mudblood and the Weasel… It was so much more complicated now. Draco really didn't have any other 'enemies'.

Draco sat down in his usual seat on the bench sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy was nowhere in sight and for that Draco was grateful. He didn't want to be reminded of sex and pug-dogs together. It was disgusting. And dirty. Other than that, a sense of normalcy had returned to him.

Including the package from home.

He grinned as he caught the package of sweets from home that dropped from his Eagle owl that brought his mail. His mother had sent him his rations of Halloween sweets. After tearing into the paper packaging, he began to munch his way through several Chocolate Bombs™: _Explode in your mouth, not on your hands_. Draco snapped the red wax seal on the accompanying envelope and pulled out the letter. 

The scrolling, loopy lilac letters told him that his mother had written, which was unusual. It was most often his father who went out of his way to correspond with his son.

_Dear Draco,_

_You're most likely wondering why I'm writing (clever boy!)-_

Draco smiled.

_- but that is because your father is in __Zurich__ on some business trip again for the week. I believe he was meeting up with some old friends of his after his meetings- do you recall Mr. Belial? (He was over for dinner a couple years ago with the Crabbes.) And a nice American couple Mr. and Mrs. Mavangou, but I've only ever met them once, before you were born, darling. They're staying in a luxury resort in the _Alps___. It sounds lovely there. I would have gone with him, but it was a last-minute trip and I wouldn't have had time to pack properly. Oh well. I'm sure he'll buy us both something nice over there. Chocolates, I hope. I know you love them. I have to watch my figure, so perhaps not though…_

_I trust that you are all right at school. Did you ever finish that Fermentum Potion that Professor Snape had you brew? You told me so much about it in your last letter. I'd so like to hear the results._

_Don't forget to take your Oculus Potion on Friday! Malfoys don't wear glasses._

_Love,_

_Mother_

_XX_

Draco laughed to himself at that. _Yeah, as though Professor Snape would be stupid enough to teach that potion to sixth years. _He was a little surprised that his mother hadn't accompanied his father on the trip to Zurich. Usually his mother did, especially when his father had meetings on the continent. Zurich…what would his father be doing there? There was a small wizarding school in the vicinity, but Draco couldn't recall the name. It was mostly for Mudbloods and Halfbloods anyway.

He shoved the letter into one of the pockets in his robes and wandered over to the Gryffindor table to bother Potter. The boy was awkwardly shifting on his feet and looking sympathetic towards the Mudblood and agreeing with her when she snuffled about 'them' all 'being hurt' and the need to 'raise money immediately for the victims'. Weasley looked absolutely livid. 

_Oh, stop with the Pansy sympathy! _He couldn't believe it; Potter and pals, too? Ugh…Potter hadn't been like that at all last night, even though he was high- why did he need to start now?

Potter was speaking. "I just heard, Hermione…it's…er...really tragic for all of them who were involved…I'm really sorry for them,"

Draco stepped up behind the little sympathy-fest. "Oh, screw '_them_'," he said, knowing full-well they could only mean Pansy. He sneered. "Maybe they deserved it. Disgusting, really, what happened." He had no need to mention names. They all knew who they were speaking about.

Granger looked up at the Slytherin, hair as bushy as ever and her eyes were red and puffy. "How can you say that?" the Mudblood asked in a dead whisper, "After all those people were hurt? Are you that inhumane?"

Pansy was a person now? After the trauma _he _had been through. The last Draco had seen of her, she was a bitch in heat. "They're _not people. Not when they do that. And they were hardly hurt." he said casually. "I should know best, shouldn't I?" Draco studied his chewed fingernails with an air of indifference._

Weasley's nostrils flared and his flaming hair stood up like a Celt in battle. "So you were involved! You probably planned it. Rot in hell, arsehole!" he spat, saliva nearly flying into Draco's face.

Draco laughed, slightly confused, but he wouldn't let the Gryffindorks get the better of him. "Oh, Weasley, you flatter me. It was more…impulsive. Now can't you bloody let it alone?"

The Mudblood, Potter and Weasley all gasped in shock. Granger was a lovely shade of whitish-green in the face.

Draco glared at them. He didn't need to be lectured further. "Never mention _that again. I'm sick of hearing about it." He marched off to go find where Crabbe and Goyle had lumbered off to. They at least wouldn't bother him about Pansy._

Most of all the other sixth years avoided Draco that day, except Crabbe and Goyle, and even they seemed to be cowering as best they could, given their size and bearing, in his presence.

Draco couldn't have strutted around more happily or proudly. At long last he was getting some of the respect being a Malfoy entitled him to, even if he had to be traumatized by 'the experience' to get it. He tried to shrug it off and forget about it, which seemed to be working.

It was, however, very strange when Professor Snape shot him a wary and almost loathsome look in double Potions that afternoon. He'd never done that before. Draco might have been a little concerned over this, but he kept his mouth shut.

Not until Arithmancy on Friday did Draco find out why. Unfortunately, Professor Vector had set out a new seating plan the previous class that had forced Draco to sit next to the Mudblood Granger, despite Granger's desperate pleas against it and Draco's malicious sneers.

It was a review class of a fifth-year lesson on the Major Pinnacles (which Draco had aced the year before) and neither he nor the Mudblood were paying much attention to it, not that they needed to anyways.

The Mudblood had reached into her bookbag and pulled out a folded newspaper article, sighing sadly every so often at it as she read quietly.

Draco tried to peer over her shoulder to look at it. He was curious, but Granger turned it over and glared at him.

"That's not class-related material, is it?" he whispered insistently, "Let me see."

"You bloody well know what it is. You told me yourself you were involved. You don't need more proof of what you've done, Malfoy," she hissed back, but Draco was quicker than the Gryffindor girl and he snatched it up out of her hand. He unfolded the article under his desk, smirking and pleased with himself.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Vector snapped in the middle of a sentence about the significance of the Cipher Challenge in regards to past life Metaphysics. She was clearly very annoyed with her best students' interruption of the lesson. 

Granger frowned. "No, Professor."

Professor Vector resumed, but the Mudblood shot daggers at Draco, who had bent his head down low to read the article hidden between the pages of his textbook.

The clipping was clearly from a Muggle newspaper- The Daily Mail. The words were all uniform and squarish and all followed a very straight format. No curls of phrases over pictures or bold, blinking advertisements. It was so _plain. There was a picture at the center of the article- something large and metallic and burning. There was smoke all in the image all around the fire and unmoving people in the corners tending to victims of _something._ _

But the strange thing was, the picture _wasn't moving._ It was just there. An image, frozen in time on the newspaper. It was so…primitive, and not surprising, that the Muggles had such flat pictures.

His eyes strayed to the title at the top and he read on:

_Horrific Train Accident in Swiss __Alps-__ 76 Dead, 53 Injured, 4 Missing_

_In one of Switzerland's worst train accidents to date, 76 people are confirmed dead, 53 injured, many still in serious condition, and several are still believed missing in the wreckage. Of the 76 killed, 29 were students from a prestigious private boarding school near Ziehausen, and ranged in age from ten to seventeen._

_Officials were unable to determine the exact cause of the crash, which occurred on Monday between the remote villages of Zolne and Ziehausen, near the Austrian border, but it is believed that the train experienced an electrical shortage caught fire and derailed while in the 5 km long tunnel that the railway runs through. The train had the misfortune of locking from the outside by an automated electronic system, thus trapping the passengers in the cars while the fire raged._

_The exact cause of the fire remains a mystery, but several eye-witnesses report dark figures leaving the tunnel unharmed as the train fire began. The suspicious persons are reported to have mentioned the name 'Vereal'. Anyone with further information should contact the police as arson has not been ruled out. _

_The list of confirmed dead and injured has been posted in the train station in Zolne and in the national hospital in __Zurich__ and has been updated daily as further victims are identified. They can be found on the following page also. The missing persons are believed to include a __Louisiana__ couple and an unidentified man with light colouring._

_Story continued on page two._

Draco slumped back in his desk lamely. "Oh shit," he mumbled. _That _was what the Gryffindorks had been talking about, not Pansy. It was so obvious now. And he had effectively told them that he had taken part in arranging that…_massacre_._ He sincerely hoped that they hadn't gone to Dumbledore yet, or he was **totally **screwed._

Draco certainly fit the description of the unknown accomplice. A man, albeit young, with light colouring, exactly like his father.

His father.

Who was in the Alps when it happened. Switzerland, maybe.

With a Mr. Belial and an American couple. Wasn't Louisiana near America?

It hit him. _This was his father's business. Death Eater business. Killing a score of people that happened to include wizard and witch children, some of whom (if not all) were indefinitely Muggle-born. His father was a murderer. A mass murderer._

No! His father wouldn't do this! He was a civilized man, he didn't need to resort to _killing_ people. Draco trusted his father to be prudent. He _knew_ his father wouldn't do this. Couldn't do this.

_"…your father is in __Zurich__ on some business trip again for the week…"_

_"…unidentified man with _light_ colouring…"_

How many people had light colouring?

_No!_

You know it's true…****

His father made a business of murdering.

Oh. God.

He had always thought that his father just tormented them, tortured them maybe (like at the Quidditch World Cup a couple years previous), refused them entrance into the Wizarding society, but…

His lip curled up in a mix of trepidation and disgust at what his father had done. What _he himself had said to have done. He was stunned. What could he do now? Denounce himself? No. Denounce his father? No. Denounce his family ties? No. There was nothing. His stomach flipped over and threatened to empty itself fright then and there._

Granger obviously mistook the grimace for a sneer. "Proud of yourself?" she hissed.

Draco was speechless. Completely dumbfounded at the truth. He had to get out of there. Draco gathered his books up quickly, shuffling papers and dropping quills onto the floor.

Professor Vector looked up. "Mr. Malfoy, would you care to explain exactly what you are doing?"

He ignored the Professor, grabbed the newspaper clipping and ran out of the classroom. Down the hallway the Professor's yelling was heard for him to return to class immediately. 

_I've fucked up badly this time…_

**Author's Note:** Much thanks to Thalia (the 'part-time beta' who is amazing) for beating the stick of betterness and to Berne (Jive) as always. You guys rock!

And to all those people who have reviewed so far. I *love* getting feedback above all.        

I have a Yahoo group for my fanfics now, that I keep neglecting to pimp out: Malachite There's not much there yet, but…(updates will be notified from there, etc.)           I'd love to see more stuff in the future.

The title of this chapter was inspired by my Latin 110 class, but more specifically the Latin verb 'to fall': _cado__, cadere, cecidi, casurum. 'Cadence' derives from this and means pretty much 'how things fall'.                 _

On a side note, I personally do not endorse drugs to solve one's problems.            


	5. Research and Development

**Title: **The Subtle Knife (5/23)

**Author:** Ociwen

**Author E-mail:** ociwen@hotmail.com

**Category:** drama, slash

**Rating:** R (For heterosexual relations in this chapter)

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Summary:** In his sixth year, when Draco is given a mysterious dagger by his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat? Chapter five, featuring Potions marks, libraries, past prefects and the Grey Lady.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW. **

The title of this fic comes from Philip Pullman's book, The Subtle Knife. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

**Chapter 5: Research and Development**

Draco failed his next Potions test. 

_Miserably._

It didn't help that he hadn't been able to sleep for three nights in a row, either. He sported vivid purple bags under his eyes (his mother would have threatened to hide them with concealer) and there was a wisp of blond hair at the back of his head that had taken a page out of Potter's book and refused to be brushed back into submission. Draco had even tried using some of Tim Nott's Wizzido™ Hair Gel, but it just stuck up stiffly afterwards. Like his increasingly frequent morning erections that Potter gave his subconscious.

Potter…

The stupid little chunk of hair had to pick double Potions on Wednesday, of all classes, to spring up in. Draco spent the whole class trying to tame the wayward lock. He was being unusually self-conscious about his appearance. Weasley and Potter found this amusing. Draco tried to send Potter, in particular, black looks and glares-of-death, but these ended up turning into uncomfortable bouts where Draco's cheeks had the habit of flushing and flaring up. 

_Well_, Draco thought, _they failed their test too_.

Draco was distracted by the weird things that had been happening lately. His mind just wasn't on schoolwork- even though he didn't often have to study _that _hard to get decent enough marks. This was a different sort of distraction.

The day after Draco had stolen the newspaper clipping from the Mudblood Granger, his father had sent him a brief note harassing him if he had chosen a 'date' yet for 'his big day'. The letter happened to arrive on November 1, All Soul's Day.

That was a little more than ironic.

He hadn't actually ever thought that being a Death Eater actively involved killing Mudbloods and Muggles- tormenting, shunning, a little torture, maybe, but murder? He thought that the 'death' part came as more of an afterthought, if they got in the way or something. Draco thought on this.

But these people who died in the attack (which Draco knew Fudge would never admit had anything to do with the wizarding world); they were younger than he was. The lot of them were _really young. It was cliché, and all, but they really hadn't begun their lives yet. Draco thought a lot on that, too. _

Clearly purifying the wizarding world's blood would involve more casualties than he had anticipated, and equally as many innocent Muggles.

But…

Since when did he ever care about the lives of Muggles? He had never pitied them in the past. They were just…Muggles. Silly, simple, strange Muggles who were really one step below wizards in the hierarchy of humanity. He hated them, really, just like he hated Muggle-lovers like Dumbledore and Potter.

_Potter…_

The wizarding blood was far too diluted and dirty. He had an obligation to fix that problem, being a full-blooded wizard. He was _helping_ the wizards everywhere. It was his pureblooded duty. His father was _helping the wizarding world._

But…Draco didn't want to _kill people, especially have to kill them himself. Getting his own hands dirty was never a part or the job description his father had given him. No, Lucius had insinuated that much of his work involved traveling, meeting up with the 'old crowd', getting a few new recruits here and there, dinner parties and dances, stuff like that. However…_

Last year, he would have sworn that he wanted to get the Dark Mark painted onto his arm and parade around the Great Hall with Potter and the other Gryffindorks cowering in fear. Or at least just Potter and his sidekicks- with everyone else, his chances at becoming Head Boy might be jeopardized.

That was what he wanted, that and to make his father proud. The two of which went hand-in-hand.

He sighed, and set his chin down melancholically on his desk. The classroom was buzzing in its own quiet way, normally soothing with its sweet scents of stewing herbs and spicy oils permeating the haze of the dungeon room. His own cauldron was bubbling away rapidly, but Draco was oblivious to this. 

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape had nodded to Draco, "a word with you?"

"Yes, Sir." Draco trudged up to the front of the dungeon classroom; his head must have hung maybe a little lower than usual because Snape eyed him scrupulously. ****

"_What is this?" Snape's tone had changed drastically, now it was an angry hiss. Draco could almost see why the Gryffindors loathed the professor so much, if this was how he always spoke to them. Snape waved Draco's most recent test paper in front of the boy's eyes._

Draco frowned when he caught the mark. _Thirty seven percent!_ Normally, he earned high nineties. His father would be livid if he ever found out. "Sorry, Sir," he said in a mumbling drawl, trying to sound a little less fazed than he came across as. "I don't know what I was thinking-"

"_That is obvious." Snape glared. Then, in a lower, softer voice that Draco remembered the Potions Master having used with the first year Slytherins on their first day at Hogwarts after the Sorting ceremony: "If you ever have _anything_" he stressed, "_anything _you need to discuss…" His unvoiced offer hung in the cedar and puffskein skin fumes of the classroom unsaid. _

"No, Sir." Draco furrowed his brow, and began to slink back to his lab bench.

"And the next time, Mr. Malfoy, do not stoop down to Potter and Weasley's level." The two Gryffindors' heads popped up from their deep conversation about _something, both slightly pink. "It doesn't suit you."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking some of Blaise's earlier advice, Draco decided to focus his attention elsewhere. Instead of going up to his dorm to study for a Charms test the upcoming week, he headed for the library on the first Sunday afternoon of November. The prefects' meeting finished early that day so he had plenty of time. The day before had been the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch game. Gryffindor had, unfortunately, won. 

Draco didn't actually have the knife with him this time. He didn't want to be reminded of anything related to his father at the present. Researching the dagger didn't remind him, but looking at it did.

_Just look at yourself in the mirror to see Lucius…_

Rather than bringing the actual dagger, Draco had quickly sketched a relatively accurate drawing of the details on the front of the hilt and one picture of the back as well. He had the sketches, along with a roll of parchment and a self-refilling quill packed in his bag and headed for a promising aisle of volumes in the library. He pulled out a couple more books on magical weapons that he had overlooked on previous visits to the library and then he settled himself down at his favoured table near the Restricted Section. Madam Pince hovered around the locked gate like the raptor she was, but other than that she left him alone.

But someone was sitting there already. Draco felt his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. He glared at Harry Potter from the opposite side of the table, but was almost relieved to see _him. He could deal with Potter today, if he needed to, especially since they had both been in attendance at the prefects' meeting that morning and naught so much as a glance had passed between the two. Unfortunately, Draco did notice that his hands weren't nearly as steady as he had thought they had been since the meeting and the small stack of books that he had been carrying toppled all over the table, onto Potter's randomly spread out parchment rolls of assignments._

Potter groaned in annoyance, shoving his books over to the side of the table where Draco had seated himself. "Can't you sit somewhere else, Malfoy?"

"Can't you?" Draco countered gleefully. His eyes narrowed and hid the faint light of hope in them. "This is _my table, Potty," he announced._

Potter frowned again and chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. His green owl-eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Well, then you can share today, because I was here first."

Draco snorted. Arguments for _No! and __Yes! were competing in his brain. He nodded. "Fine."_

Potter picked up his chewed ink-stained quill and went back to furiously scribbling something on a roll of parchment. His eyes would roam over a single burgundy book checked out from the library, then back to glare momentarily at Draco as he tried to read his own book. The Gryffindor stopped for a moment, munching on the wrong end of the quill. The ink that stained the side of his mouth went unnoticed.

Draco wondered how Potter would react if he licked the smear away.

Potter's loud growl brought Draco back to reality, "Stupid piece of junk!" He crumpled what he was writing into a tight wad. He threw the ball across the library, but he was a Seeker, not a Chaser, so it somehow bounced off the nearest bookshelf and hit Draco in the leg. 

Madam Pince noticed the Gryffindork's outburst. She didn't say anything, but she pursed her lips and glowered at Potter. Potter promptly shut up and cringed.

Draco, who had hardly been that immersed in _Dark Daggers and the Dangers with Them_, picked up the ball that had rolled by his feet and pried it apart. His eyes scanned the title with more interest than he had been displaying the whole while and he smirked. "_Whatever_ could possibly be plaguing the Great Harry Potter so much? Studying Hex-breaking Potions? For what"

Potter's eyes widened and he tried vainly to retrieve the discarded paper that Draco was now reading with gusto. "Give that here."

Draco wiggled a finger. "Not until you tell me what it's for. We aren't studying hex-breaking potions in class."

"Well…maybe it's for extra credit." Potter chewed on his lower lip nervously.

"…don't believe you…" Draco said in a sing-song voice and danced the parchment in front of the other boy.

"Look, _Malfoy," Potter said darkly as he fruitlessly tried to recover his work, "if you want to know that badly it's because my __godfather suggested it. Let it alone."_

This sounded a little strange to Draco. Wasn't Potter's godfather an escaped convict still? Why would he be telling Potter what to read up about when he should be off murdering other wizards and Muggles?

_Like your father…_

However, hex-breaking potions only reminded Draco of his own experience with them. Right after fourth year, when Potty and his Weasel pals had used five different hexes on him at once on the train ride home. He had gone home with itchy little tentacle-boils all over his face and chest. His father had been livid with Draco, but his mother had insisted her husband get the potion out straight away to "…fix my _poor son…". The potion made him sick for days afterwards, with a high fever and a bad case of the runs. The infusion had tasted faintly like salty potatoes, too. The whole experience was gross and the humiliation remained engrained in his memory._

But Potter was also very incorrect on the notes he had made on the potions. Draco shook his head. "This isn't bad, but you should really consider using Toad Flax and Datura, as opposed to Thistle root, if you want to repel any sort of reptilian translocations or invocations. It'll be easier on your stomach. And add Holy Thistle to it to increase the potion's lifespan."

"Oh," Potter took the scroll back and wrote the Slytherin's advice down, and then he looked up warily. "Erm…thank you," he said cautiously.

Draco smiled, sort of, and went back to _Dark Daggers_, which was as boring, if not more so, than _Hogwarts: A History_. He had taken the liberty of reading it in his fifth year, at his father's request- _know thy enemies and such._

The furious scratching of quill to parchment ceased. Draco looked up and Harry Potter was staring at him strangely, as though Draco had grown another head- Draco knew a spell to do that. His father had taught him.

Potter had an odd expression on his face, and his glasses were sliding down his nose again. 

Draco stared back and _tried not to think of Harry Potter and naughty things at the same time. _

Harry Potter topless and panting…

Harry Potter topless and writhing…

Harry Potter naked and writhing exquisitely beneath him…

Draco could only imagine what Potter's trousers hid too. Maybe a first year could puke on the Gryffindor's bottoms and Draco could lend him a pair. He felt his cheeks go a little pink, but he raised a pale eyebrow anyway.

"What are you doing?" the Gryffindor asked, now fingering the hideous green pendant he wore like a protective amulet.

"Research," Draco answered. He didn't want to say anything more because he was reminded of what he was _supposed to do with the dagger. _

"For what?" Potter's eyes flicked to the title on the book cover.

Draco debated with himself a moment before pulling out the sketches. Potter was a prefect, so he had to be at least marginally intelligent. Plus, _how _many times had he defeated the most powerful wizard ever known?

This was, however, nearly outweighed by the fact said individual was a Gryffindor.

Potter studied the drawings, scratching his nose. He looked somewhat surprised that Draco had _willingly shown him something of his own. "What is this? Oh, right, that knife your father gave you. Why didn't you just bring it?"_

Draco put on an air of pompous indifference. "Well," he drawled, "the actual dagger is in my dorm. I'm not about to have any one else touching it, now am I?" He smirked and hoped any tiny bit of concern he might have had for the dagger ever coming into Potter's hands wasn't showing. "I have no idea what it's for, though." He confessed, his grey eyes diverting from the other boy. "My father wants me to figure it out."

Potter's eyes narrowed when Draco mentioned his father. Draco thought he heard Potter mumble something about 'Death Eaters' and 'lazy git' together, but he let it slide. He didn't want to be on Potter's bad side when it came to this dagger. Who knows what it would do in Potter's hands? For all Draco knew it could turn Potter into a crazed murderer and kill him. 

Plus, he'd rather Potter not tell the Headmaster either. 

"It was just a gift, Potty. A silly little gift. There's no need to get all worked up over it."

Potter's eyes squinted even further and he pushed his chair backwards, as though to get up.

"I don't think he even knows what it does," Draco said in a rush. "I'm sure it was expensive, though." He offered a feeble smirk.

"And that's his idea of a decent gift?"

Draco smiled broadly as Potter pulled his chair closer to the table once more. "Of course."

Potter reached an arm over the table and grabbed a textbook. It was ancient and silver leaf sprinkled itself over their arms. "Do you mind?"

Draco's eyes widened incredulously at this. "No, feel free to do all of the grunt work."

Harry looked up from under the rim of his round glasses. "Not as though it wouldn't be something new for me." He said absently, his mouth beginning to frown.

Draco's own expression remained unchanged, but his pupils grew larger. "Oh? You aren't the great and wondrous Boy Who Lived in the Muggle world too?" Draco leaned back, satisfied with this. "I think that's the best thing I've heard all day." This was, in all honesty, the truth.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter said mildly. "You wouldn't understand them." He returned to his book promptly, hiding behind its cover.

Draco felt almost sorry (if that were possible) for Potter then. He didn't speak of his Muggle relations as though they were very important to him. His voice has lowered with betrayed emotion (bitter? angry? disgusted?) at this revelation and Draco knew that Harry seemed much younger at that moment. Draco didn't press on further nor did he say anything at all. Quiescence lapsed in the library, save for the muttered chattering of the Ravenclaws there to study. Potter looked away and his eyes began to rove absently over the same page or two the remainder of the afternoon and Draco watched him in silence, unnoticed except for the reflection of leaden eyes in the polished malachite stone of the battered necklace.

That week, Draco stayed away from Harry Potter like he tried to stay away from thinking about Death Eaters and his father. Both were inevitable to creep back into his life. But Harry…

He had seemed so…different in the library that Sunday. It was as though everything around him was changing, including the Boy Who Lived and Draco was caught somewhere in the trail behind. Both the recollection of Potter's increased vulnerability in the library and all of the fantasies he was having had thundered away at his reasoning. Draco certainly didn't know what to say _to_ the other boy, or what he _should_ say.

"Hi, I've been fantasizing about you, Potter. Want to do something about it?" No.

"Potter, do you want to talk about this? I know something's wrong with your home life and I don't know what to think of my father anymore. Let's angst about it and have a catharsis." No.

"I had a dream about you Potter, only it was these two weird people as well. What should I do?" No.

His life was _seriously fucked up at this point._

For one thing, Draco had very few feelings for Potter other than intense loathing (especially at refusing his friendship in their first year) or perhaps disdain for having to live with Muggles. These Muggles, who, from Harry's- _Potter's_- reaction, were clearly not the best people to be living with, in addition to being stupid and dirty and uncivilized.

But the dream! And everything else! Draco missed the simple life of previous years. When he _knew he hated Harry Potter. When he would have done _anything_ to humiliate the boy._

Now though…

Pansy was still rumored to be holed up in her dormitory, coping (bravely) with Draco's rejection. Draco managed to avoid Pansy like the shrieking plague she was. Her blow jobs may have disguised her unpleasantries before, but Draco's eyes were open now.

Especially to changes between Harry Potter and himself…

Neither of these new developments went unnoticed by the dynamic duo of Crabbe and Goyle; Draco chose to sneak out on Friday evening, again, for a (much needed) opportunity to figure out what the hell his father had given him. Especially with the post-script intensely pressuring him into giving the dagger away to someone like Harry Potter- though Lucius would never go so far as to say directly who it was for. Clearly, the dagger possessed some sort of power that could be used against the Boy Who Lived. This power was, in all likelihood, the work of dark magic. But, despite the fact that the dagger was (probably) dark and definitely powerful, Draco felt himself drawn towards it. He _didn't want to give it away, despite the danger label attached to it._

And now he felt it increasingly unlikely that he wanted to harm Potter, either. As well, he needed to figure out the weapon soon.

With the dagger hidden in a well-concealed pocket of his trousers (lest a professor catch him) Draco slinked into the Slytherin Common Room under the veil of his Invisibility Cloak. For starters, the library would be closed at this hour (lights-out was an hour or so off, but students were to be in their common rooms or bed now) and secondly, he did _not_ want to be questioned by anyone. He rather liked the solitary aspect the cloak brought to him and he wanted to be _alone_ to do the research on his most important possession.

The cloak was a good idea after all, as Crabbe and Goyle were conversing about him. They were both squeezed onto a couch by a leaded bottle-green glass lamp in a corner of the Common Room.

"Malfoy's sick, I think," Crabbe muttered lowly. There were still a number of students nearby. 

Draco thought that Crabbe looked sicklier- the garish glow of the lamp was playing at the jowls and chins on the boy, painting them at a surreal angle that was in no way flattering. Draco was also mildly surprised that Crabbe was capable of expending such energy on using his brain, though, if he had given it more thought, Crabbe was more capable than Goyle. But only just.

"Nah," Goyle grunted in return.

"But he dumped Pansy."

_I should have done that months ago_, Draco though as he paused along a mottled side table to listen. _All she wants is sex…_

Not that you complained at the time. Look at yourself; you're not getting _anything now!_

_I have other, more important things on my mind._

_Like Potter?_

Draco stumbled into the sharp edge of the table. The cold stone cut into his thigh painfully. _What the fuck? Can't I ever __not _bring Potter into the situation? __

"What was that?" Goyle glanced over to Draco's direction, oblivious to the boy hidden under the cloak.

"Nothin'" Crabbe elbowed Goyle in the gut. "Oi! Were you even listening to me?"

Goyle slugged his fist back at Crabbe. "Yeah. He hasn't bothered Potter since last week. Big deal."

"Must be sick, then," Crabbe concluded.

"Or possessed." Goyle snorted. "Or poisoned. Or cursed."

Crabbe just grunted out what Draco usually took as an affirmative laugh of sorts.

Goyle shook his head, which came out more as a sort of wobble in his neck. "Nah, I still think he's in love. Not with Pansy."

Crabbe's beady eyes widened with disbelief.

"I mean, did you see him in Potions on Wednesday? Just starin' off into space all lesson."

Crabbe whacked Goyle again, who returned the gesture. "And," Goyle went on, "he hasn't been around much. Just hangs out in his dormitory or sleeps."

"That's all you do. 'Sides Draco's a prefect; he can do what he wants. And maybe he's not happy after breaking up with Pansy," Crabbe insistedthickly.

"It's unrequited."

Crabbe growled, "Do you even know what that word means?"

Goyle didn't reply for a moment, cracking his knuckles intently. "Do you?"

"Shut up, arsehole. That's not love, that's illness. Or preoccupation."

"Maybe, shite-head."

"Oh, I'm so scared, fuck wit." Crabbe chortled at his witty insult.

Draco decided at that point to creep out. _In love_? Crabbe and Goyle delusional idiots. He _was_ preoccupied, but certainly not sick, or- he shuddered- in _love. Dreaming about Potter and himself was one thing, love was another._

As it was a Friday evening and the library closed, the place was deserted. Well, nearly. Granger was still there, being a prefect allowed her to have special privileges, but she was leaving as well. Draco entered, pulling off his cloak and stepping into the dim glowing of the fading lanterns and absently floating candles.

Granger glared at Draco as she walked out. "Murderer," she hissed.

Draco thought of opening his mouth in a retort, but the library doors were swinging behind the girl already. He wasn't a murderer himself, but he was certainly the son of one. He felt dirty, maybe like a Mudblood himself, but he would never bring himself to admit it. If his father was a murderer and a Malfoy, did that make the Malfoys all murderers? He felt ashamed of his father's actions. That he could take human life to mean so little…

Even if they were (mostly) Muggles and Mudbloods.

_Fuck! What's done is done! Even a time-turner couldn't help you now._ Inwardly, Draco frowned. He needed to maintain control over the whole situation that he had brought on himself and his school-life. His father had little influence now that Draco was on Hogwarts property under the vigilant eye of Dumbledore, for which he was grateful at the present.

If Malfoys _could be grateful._

_Ugh!_

He needed to stop wallowing in self-pity. Potter was the one who wallowed in self-pity, with his 'Oh, woe is me for I am the Boy Who Lived' and 'Oh, why must I live such a pained and cursed existence?'.

Draco slammed his fist down on the table where he sat. _Why must everything come back to Potter? Leave me alone!_

"Everything all right there, Malfoy?" A familiar, almost cheery voice called out.

Draco groaned and buried his face in his hands. He feigned ignorance of Potter's presence and pulled out his dagger (still wrapped in its silk cloth). Since he was alone, or had planned on the solitude, he had decided to bring the actual weapon.

Harry Potter walked up to him. "Back again?" Potter smiled a little sheepishly. Draco really liked the way his lip was curling at the edge and the flush of Potter's face. "Need some help?" The Gryffindor's eyes were bright with hope and wrung the hem of his shirt in his hands.

Draco didn't know exactly what to say to the offer, but blurted out the first sensible thing "I thought the library was closed for the night."

Potter rolled his eyes. "You're a prefect. I'm a prefect. I don't see the problem."

The Slytherin thought about this for a moment, somewhat baffled at why Harry Potter, of all students, would be in the _library_, of all places, on a Friday night after hours. The crux of the matter was that he _was here, so he should seize the opportunity. _

Draco gave a slow smile. The muscles of his face felt strange not contorting into a smirk, a sneer or a smug smirk. And it felt _good_ at the same time. He met the other boy's emerald gaze and matched it. "Yes, actually," he admitted easily. _I would love for your help, Harry._ "Maybe I'd work it out faster."

Harry's enigmatic smile broadened as he sat down across from Draco, his malachite necklace still hanging around his slim neck. Draco had the sudden urge to run his fingers along its fluid lines, along that golden flesh that radiated…

_Must stop _thinking about things like that. It's Potter! Potter, not Harry.__

Draco noticed his hands were shaking against the hard oak of the table, a faint staccato tapping like how the water dripped from the eaves of the castle in the dungeons after a storm. "Studying down here with your Mudblood?" He _needed_ to get back to the familiar animosity with Potter. This new stuff was too weird.

Potter scowled at Draco's slur, but nodded slowly nonetheless. "_Hermione_ wants to get ahead again in Potions, maybe as revenge for when Snape gave her detention Monday."

Ah, yes, the Mudblood Granger _had_ been caught lifting Pennyroyal seeds and Mayapple root from Snape's potions stores. The bint had been stupid enough to try to steal the ingredients _during_ Potions class as opposed to sneaking in with an Invisibility Cloak after-hours. She claimed that she had only wanted to make an improved version of a Scintillating Solution. Draco thought that the Mudblood was only trying to show off her potions skills after Draco bested her (again) on the potion they made in class that week.

"It's nice to see her suffer down to the level of the rest of you," Draco sneered. "It does her good to realize she _isn't_ the best student there is."

"She's really preoccupied, though," Potter defended his friend vehemently. 

_Ever the Gryffindor, defending his friends over detentions, _Draco thought. "Aren't we all…" he drawled and chewed a fingernail intently.

"She…she was really hurt with what happened in Switzerland…" Potter offered.

Draco raised an eyebrow, willing Harry to go on to see what the other boy was getting at.

"The train wreck." Harry enunciated the words carefully and stared Draco down in the eye, as though he were searching for a confession to being a Death Eater and causing the accident.

"Mmm." Draco pursed his lips, wanting to tell Harry that he hadn't been involved, but afraid as coming off as a coward. Plus there was the larger fact that his Malfoy dignity kept any words firmly lodged in the back of his throat. He shifted his eyes guiltily away from Harry, fixing them on a bookshelf to the left of his head.

But what could he be branded a coward for? Lying? Making an arse of himself by speaking before he knew what he was getting into? Digging himself deeper into a hole?

"I think…everyone was a little shocked over it- surprised in the very least…" Draco let the words hang up in the air for Harry to mull over and come to his own conclusions. He wasn't saying anything directly, but he had certainly _hinted. Although, the Boy Who Lived __was rather thick…_

"Even you?" he asked after a moment, his green eyes wide and questioning in the innocent and naïve manner that fluttered around Harry Potter like his groupies. He was too oblivious for his own good sometimes.

Draco sighed and thought about how he could rephrase it. "I...I had no idea about the attack." He admitted this in a rush, picking at the wrappings of the dagger as he tried to distract himself.

Harry nodded slowly in understanding. "Then- you didn't actually…"

"Well, no one else thinks that," Draco pulled the sheath from the dagger. Harry watched him closely. "Which is fine by me," he added.

Harry's mouth twitched a little. "Keeping up the evil façade?"

Draco's eyes softened but he had to smirk at the truthfulness. "Of course."

"I hoped- well, I _knew that you weren't behind it, Malfoy," Harry said with such earnest that Draco felt his cheeks redden and he had to look away. The other boy reached into a small bag of books he had with him. "I found this," he said as he proffered a fading blue book to Draco._

Draco took the book skeptically. "And?" he asked.

Harry went a little red in the face too. Draco felt his heart beat slightly faster at the sight. Harry looked…well, attractive, really, when he turned pink. Draco liked the _feeling the sight gave him, too. The faint tinge in his belly of…arousal?_

_No!_

Draco pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He had his dagger to concentrate on now.

"Actually, I borrowed it from Hermione. She thought I should read it." 

"_Past Prefects?" Draco scoffed at the title. __What a boring book!_

"Well, I am one." Harry stated firmly. "No, turn to this page." He flipped through the book to a page marked with a fraying scarlet ribbon. He shoved the book into Draco's hands once more.

Draco looked up at him. "Well?"

"Read the second paragraph. About Richard Meelayna."

Draco cleared his throat and sat up straight, looking down his nose through invisible half-moon glasses. Harry shook his head at this. "Richard Meelayna" Draco read aloud the haughtiest voice he could muster, "Hogwarts graduate of 1784, Gryffindor House. Born 1767 to Mr. and Mrs. George E. Meelayna of Yorkshire, wizards of Basque origin. Died 1812 of a freak accident involving a carriage and a hinkypunk. A hinkypunk?" He glanced up to the other boy. "Potter, this is useless drabble."

"No, read further."

"Nephew of silversmith Sir Henry Hampstead Meelayna, also of Yorkshire who was famous for forging ritual sapphire binding daggers." Draco's head shot up and he stared at his own dagger in realization. "You think that's what it is?" he asked incredulously.

"We could check into it." Harry suggested. "It would be a start at least."

Draco gave him a look. "It's 'we' now is it?"

"I thought you could use a little help." Harry huffed and folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm perfectly able to do this research on my own," Draco announced. "In fact, I'm _good at it."_

"Fine." Harry stood up, glaring. His chair was scraped back so quickly behind himself that it had fallen over with an echoing crash. Luckily, Madam Pince was not in sight.

"But…I'm grateful for your help," Draco added smoothly. "Providing you don't tell anyone."

Harry smiled and pulled his chair upright. He leaned close to Draco across the table, neck stretching out ever so scantily, if only to subconsciously torment the Slytherin with the action. "Of course I won't. It would sully your reputation as my arch-rival."

"And yours as the untarnished pride of Gryffindor."

_Damn his neck looks so…ravishable!_

Draco had to blink a couple times to regain his composure. He skimmed through the book. "The rest is useless?" 

"Pretty much. But we could find out who this Sir Henry is. He's from the right time frame and area as your knife-"

"Dagger," Draco corrected.

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "Your dagger...it's silver and set with sapphires."

"Mmm…amethysts as well, though." Draco nodded. "And if it's not made by him, perhaps someone similar. We could check for contemporaries of his."

"Right." Harry rose to his and started to walk off suddenly.

"Where are you going?" Draco made a feeble attempt to grab the Gryffindor's arm, but ended up trailing it across the table. 

"To look for books." Harry sniggered at Draco's ungraceful move.

"Oh." Draco felt like a fool for worrying over such a trivial thing and for prostrating himself like a virgin sacrifice overtop of the table.

Time passed in an unnoticed oblivion punctuated only with Harry or Draco occasionally rising to retrieve more books or to use the card catalogue to search for titles. There weren't too many books on Yorkshire silversmiths of the late eighteenth century to be found and even less mentioned the name 'Meelayna'. The candles burned low into the night and the shadows in the library enveloped more of the room. 

The clock over the door chimed once before Draco bothered to pay it any heed. Something grey and wispy floated in by the windows across the room and stopped at the table where the two boys sat.

The Grey Lady, paying them a visit. Harry looked at the ghost blankly and Draco eyed her with** interest. **

"Shouldn't you two both be in bed by now? Even the Ravenclaws are."

Draco didn't know quite what to say to the Ravenclaw resident ghost, but Harry seemed to. Then again, he got on with just about everyone, save the Slytherins. 

"I thought you lived in the Ravenclaw section of the castle," the Gryffindor said. "Why would you be here?"

The Grey Lady smiled wistfully and motioned to the books. "I always liked the library here. So peaceful, especially now…" She sighed sadly.

Draco blinked. "What? Why?"

The ghost shook her transparent head. "I'm sorry…" Then she floated into the darkness of the library and was lost among the encyclopedias of household charms.

Draco looked at the other boy, who shrugged. Checking his watch, he realized that it _was after midnight and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Fuck…it's after one in the morning now," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly sleep-deprived and drooping._

"Yeah, I guess it is." Harry glanced at the clock, and then stretched out his arms cat-like before yawning. He frowned slightly at the huge pile of books Draco had spread across the table. "It looks like you probably have enough books there to go on…see you in Potions on Monday-" He turned to walk away, shoulders sagging with a little more fatigue than necessary.

"Wait!" Draco called out before realizing the words had _actually_ left his mouth. "Wait, Potter," he said more softly.

Harry turned around anxiously, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. "Yes?" he croaked, and then he cleared his throat to repeat himself.

"I'll probably be here next Saturday," Draco said offhand, glancing at his fingernails. The left index still had a little that could be chewed off.  He winced at it. "I'm not going to bother to go to Hogsmeade…"

Potter grinned. "Getting drunk not worth it after all?"

"Ha ha." Draco gave a sarcastic smirk and Harry continued to grin back. "No, I…I'm not done researching this thing-" he gestured to the ritual dagger that he had taken into his hand. "-it's a lot of work," he added.

Harry didn't say anything, but Draco hoped the glint in his green eyes that matched the malachite necklace he wore was an answer enough.

**Author's Note: **Eternal thanks to my wonderful betas, Berne and Thalia. You guys make this fic what I want it to be with all of your comments, input, edits and suggestions. What would I do without you two?

Also thanks to Didodiva for her comments on Draco lending Harry pants, too. I loved it!

Also, there are references in this chapter based on Zoolander's "freak gasoline fight accident" and Jerry the Frog's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone- The Not-so Golden Snitch, found here for Draco's "smirk and smug smirk".

The title of the chapter comes from Dupont- the company that makes nylon and plastic and such (my father works for them). I was wracking my brains for titles this evening, having neglected to think of one earlier, and on the drive back to residence we passed a building with the sign "Dupont: Research and Development". It worked perfectly!

And, to all those who review, you get a gold star! I _love _getting reviews. *hint hint* And I will try to reply to them all, eventually.


	6. Revival

**Title: **The Subtle Knife (6/23)

**Author:** Ociwen

**Author E-mail:** ociwen@hotmail.com

**Category:** drama, slash

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Summary:** Chapter six, originally part of chapter 5, featuring: more Hogsmeade weekends, Malfoy family history and necks.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.**

The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

**Chapter 6: Revival**

On Monday morning, Draco was relieved to discover that evidently Potter hadn't let the Mudblood or the Weasel know how he and Draco had spent their Friday night. Not that Draco had expected the Gryffindor to spill his secrets, but one could never be too sure. After catching his name in passing said (derogatively, no less) by the Weasel, he had naturally sauntered over to the Gryffindor trio after Potions class that morning.

"…Malfoy, that son of a bitch! But Harry, we didn't see you at all on Friday night after Hermione came back from the library. Where were you?"

Potter averted his famous green eyes and he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I was studying late…in the library…I-"

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. _Don't you dare say anything more, Harry Potter…_

But Granger just laughed and patted him affectionately on the back. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. Thank _God_ no one touched him like that. 

"Good for you, Harry!" She grinned with her big beaver teeth (Draco still thought they were abnormally large). "It's always good to get ahead in class. Maybe we should go over Avis charms this weekend after Hogsmeade. Remember we're meeting Ginny and Neville at the Three Broomsticks…"

"Erm…," Potter looked down at his feet. They were clad in dingy white trainers that had seen better days, on someone with much larger feet. "Actually I…erm…have plans..." he added, pink flush accentuating his cheekbones nicely.

"What's so important that you're going to miss Hogsmeade, Harry?" Weasley pressed.

Draco felt something flutter down from his stomach to his crotch. He was thankful the robes they wore covered so much. This was the perfect opportunity to step into the conversation, especially before things began to uglify. "Hey Potter!" he said loudly. "Got a girlfriend or something? Is _that_ why you're going to miss Hogsmeade? To go snog her silly? Dazzle her with your flashy scar maybe?"

Draco really hoped that Harry would get the idea and play along, only he was too dense to catch any further insinuation.

Potter straightened and his eyes narrowed, though they weren't hard or annoyed as they often used to be. His face might have even got a little more colour to it, but that could have been the poor lighting in the dungeons. "Maybe. What's it to _you_, Malfoy? I noticed you haven't signed up either."

Granger and Weasely's eyes narrowed too. And Weasley stepped close up behind Potter in battle-stance, wand drawn.

Draco sneered, although the irony of his upcoming meeting with Potter was not lost on him. "I have other things to do," he said pompously. Then he went on to aggravate Potter further, "I'll just have to work extra hard some other time to make her life miserable on school grounds."

"Since when do you work hard at anything Malfoy, except kissing your Death Eater Daddy's arse?" Weasley's fists balled up and he puffed his chest out.

Weasley was much taller than Draco. He dwarfed the Slytherin by at least four inches. Draco straightened his back, too. He wouldn't be intimidated by the height difference. "I _always work hard. I was given prefecture, you weren't. Let the academic facts speak for themselves." Draco inched closer, knowing that Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be far behind to back him up. He didn't refute the claim Weasley made about where his allegiances lay, but it was not entirely true either._

Had to keep up the act and play the part.

Harry's eyes met his own ashen ones with a look of subdued hurt and anger. Draco almost regretted that. "Get away from us, Malfoy," he said lowly, "We don't have time to waste on you."

"No, certainly not, with You Know Who after you and all. Who knows how much time you have left, Potter."

Potter recoiled and Weasley stepped forward. Granger just stood there with her mouth open, only useful to anyone for catching flies, if her teeth weren't in the way. Potter dragged away Weasley by the collar and stalked off to whatever class they had next (Draco thought it was Divination). Granger went off too, but Draco wasn't looking forward to spending the next hour near her in Arithmancy.

_Fuck!_ He blew it. _Why_ did he have to say that? Had to say everything so _stupidly_!

On Wednesday, Draco had Care of Magical freaks first thing in the morning with the Gryffindors. _With Potter. On the one hand, Draco seemed to be relishing any time that he could spend near or staring at the other boy (this included all three meals in the Great hall and any shared classes), but on the other hand, it wasn't just Potter alone. His two faithful sidekicks would also be present.   
  
It was starting out to be a rather dreary day- overcast with dark, brooding rain clouds that hovered over the horizon ominously. There wasn't much of a breeze that day, but it was still very chilly for early November. Draco cursed himself for having lost his favorite leather gloves somewhere. His hands would likely be blue by the end of the hour. Thankfully, it wasn't a double period that day.   
  
As they approached the oaf's hut, Draco made sure to huddle close to Crabbe and Goyle- they simply radiated body heat. He could make out a number of strangely-shaped nests being tended to by the great hulk of a gamekeeper. Said nests were also filled with the not the most hideous things the class had studied yet, but they certainly weren't Veelas- small dark birds that were very vulture-like in their appearance. They reminded Draco of Madam Pince.   
  
And the racket the birds were making was unparalleled! Sort of a low, throbbing cry that only increased in pitch and vigour as Draco and his fellow Slytherins approached, followed by Potter and his Gryffindors.   
  
Draco glanced quickly over his shoulder at Potter. The boy's hair was especially messy that morning and his eyes were drooping- purplish bags underneath. He looked dead tired and simply delicious.   
  
But Potter didn't seem to notice Draco's prolonged stare. Granger did and she scowled darkly.   
  
"Today," the oaf announced, "we'll be startin' on augureies, also known as Irish Phoenixes. There bein' real loud today 'cause it looks like a rain's comin'." The oaf pulled out a bird for show, and it squawked louder. It was much smaller and thinner than Draco would have imagined for something making the amount of noise it did.   
  
"You'll be workin' in pairs as usual, to look after one of them for the class. They haven't been fed yet, so that's yer jobs; they like insects and fairies, but all I could get yers was some Ceylon Singing Cockroaches from the storerooms."   
  
The class was quickly pairing itself up and Draco sided with Crabbe immediately, as he was the lesser stupid of his two goons. Goyle would have to work with the left-over Slytherin girl (usually Blaise), which was fine as he was normally made to anyways.   
  
As Draco was heading over to pick up one of the augureies (Crabbe being distracted by Queenie Greengrass' bum), the oaf stepped in front of him, blocking his path entirely. There was a simpering Pansy Parkinson standing next to him. She looked away hastily. "Malfoy," the oaf boomed, "you'll work with Pansy today." Pansy reluctantly drew closer, but still didn't look over at Draco.   
  
"I've already got a partner," Draco nodded over to Crabbe, who was probably drooling by that point.  
  
"I said you'll work with Pansy here today."   
  
Draco scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "No." As though the oaf could tell him what to do!   
  
"You'll do as yer told, Malfoy."   
  
Draco cowered at the half-giant's demand. __Fuck! That beast could eat me with that look he just gave. Stupid bastard! "My father will hear of this-" Draco began voluntarily, until he remembered his father and that newspaper article.  _

The half-giant ignored Draco's protest and lumbered off to go assist Longbottom with his augurey.  
  
"Shouldn't you know better than to threaten a professor, Malfoy?" the Weasel jeered as he walked up to the Slytherin, grinning. "Just go work with your girlfriend- er, _ex- girlfriend!"   
  
Some of the other Gryffindors snickered, including the Irish twit Finnigan and the nancy artist Thomas. The tips of Draco's ears burned.   
  
"Shut up, Weasel! At least I can get some."   
  
The Weasel's eyes narrowed, "I'll have you know that I can get some whenever I feel like," he insisted in a low voice. With that, Granger drew near and Potter followed, coming closer to the confrontation.   
  
Draco swallowed with Potter's close presence. He needed to watch what he said. "If we're talking about money, then you are certainly mistaken, Weasel." He smirked and hoped Crabbe and Goyle were right behind him. He hadn't said anything too nasty, so Potter should be pleased. _

  
"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Weasley snatched out his wand. "_Viverrat_-"

  
Potter grabbed hold of the Weasel's arms from behind and Granger wrapped her paws around the wand. The Weasel, red-faced, was struggling and protesting, "Let me at the shitface! Let me at him!"   
  
Potter's face was set grimly and his eyes squinted narrowly. "I think you'd better go now, Malfoy." his stance betrayed no emotion, none of the openness that had been in the library on the weekend.   
  
Draco was worried about this, but he tried not to show it. He didn't want to jeopardize anything with Potter at this point. He attempted to sneer, but it came out wrong and it looked more like Draco had merely swallowed a glass of bubotubor pus. "Don't think you've won, Potty," he shot back, and then winced at his words. He didn't wait for any retort Potter might have (not that he usually did, save that for the Weasel) and marched off to the other side of the field, Pansy carting the nest close behind him.   
  
The rest of the class Draco spent fuming over his words and the Weasel's, and he was glad when one of the cockroaches Pansy had been trying to shove down the augurey's beak bit the bitch.

Feeling rather foolish (and almost ashamed of what he had said to Potter), Draco couldn't be bothered to bother Potter and pals the remainder of the week. He made sure to sit far away from them in Potions and Care of Magical Freaks, and turn his back to the Gryffindor table at dinners. He focused his attentions instead on Longbottom, who had the unfortunate luck to be tripped a total of three times in the Great Hall at dinner, have his cauldron sabotaged in Double Potions- he melted his ninth that class (Draco had paid Goyle to toss crushed chickens' feet into it). Draco also 'accidentally' had to use the leg-locker curse on him in Care of Magical Freaks Friday morning because he _thought_ the Gryffindor was anogtail out to eat his arm off (but really it was just a noisy shrubbery).

This was all done in an effort to appease Harry Potter- leave Potter alone and torment someone else. Potter, however, seemed none too impressed. When Draco _finally caught the other's boy's eye when they passed in the hall Thursday evening, Draco had winked at him. Potter only returned what Draco thought was a _nice_ gesture with emerald eyes blazing with fury or very intense dislike. Draco hoped that it was the former, because he really wanted Potter to be there on Saturday. It was nice company, a change from Crabbe and Goyle, and he was…helpful, among other things._

And if his dream was any indication, Potter was a pretty good kisser. Draco half-wondered what it would be like to…

No! That would be…

…really, really nice…

…horrid, disgusting…

Draco didn't intend to find out first-hand.

It was with dreaded apprehension and worry that Draco went into the school library on Saturday morning after the remainder of the school had left for Hogsmeade that morning. Crabbe and Goyle had poked and prodded him that morning into waking, despite the fact that he had told them he was _not_ going to Hogsmeade that day. He had insisted that he had studying to do and that he felt ill that day and he had crawled back under the protective warm of his comforter. Crabbe had hulked off, obviously pleased with himself that _he had been correct and told Goyle that he was, therefore, the dumber of the two._

_please__ come Potter please come Potter_

His heart was heavier than it ought to have been and his stomach was empty- Draco didn't think that he could keep any food down that morning- which added to the placebo belief that he was ill. In the library, he wandered over listlessly to his usual table and pulled the book on Yorkshire silversmiths off the shelf nearby. He sat down with an unusual slouch in his perfect posture.

His head was bent over and his hair in disarray as he couldn't be bothered to look decent if Potter probably wasn't going to show up. He was pleading internally and hoping that Harry Potter had some sort of telepathic scar powers- _please come please come please come. The thought of __apologizing had even crossed Draco's mind._

 "Are you a Death Eater?"

Draco's head snapped up instantly. Harry…Harry was staring at him carefully, his lips pursed and ready for an answer. He looked determined and dangerous. If he looked like this when he had faced Voldemort numerous times before, then it was obvious why he had always won.

Draco was taken aback at such an overtly blunt question. Hadn't he already basically admitted to Harry that he had no part in the train massacre? Wasn't that enough?

Apparently not. Harry stood stiffly, hands braced on the back of a chair for balance. He was facing Draco directly, waiting.

Giving the library a quick glance, Draco made sure that no one had heard the Gryffindor. Madam Pince was busy shelving a cart of introductory Arithmancy books on the other side of the room and was ignoring them both, lost in the leisure of the Muggle's Guide to Numerology. ****

Draco swallowed nervously. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but still couldn't look Harry in the eye. "I…no," he mumbled.

Harry gave a sigh of relief and sat down. "I hoped not," he said, blushing a little and keeping green eyes fixed on Draco's face the whole while.

Draco smiled at this, feeling genuine happiness that Harry had given him the benefit of the doubt and at Harry's familiar pinkish hue. He felt a catharsis of sorts- that everything he had felt that past week was gone with that single gesture.

"I…I found this-" Harry pulled out a book from his bag, changing the subject quickly before awkwardness set in "-when I was here with Hermione and Ron Thursday."

Draco opened the worn velvet cover to reveal the first page. _A Compleate Biograficale Account of Sir Henry Hampstead Meelayna of Brighthamsdale, Wizard, Schollar and Master Silversmythe. _

His jaw dropped. This was the goldmine! "Harry…how-"

Harry grinned, oblivious to the fact that Draco had addressed him by his given name. "Speechless, Malfoy?

Draco raised two silver eyebrows. "Hardly." But his tone said differently.

"I marked the pages I thought had useful information."

"You've read this whole book?" Draco asked incredulously. The book was several inches thick, a good four hundred pages at least.

"Why do you think I was so tired Friday? I stayed up Thursday night reading it."

Draco smirked- Harry was _not known for his study habits, although he must have got at least decent marks in _some_ of his classes to become a prefect. "Maybe you were out with your __girlfriend?" he offered. "Speaking of Ms. Chang, I haven't seen her around lately. Is she dead?"_

Harry frowned. "She's not my girlfriend- not exactly."

Draco had a hard time believing that. "But I saw you two snogging in September."

Harry's eyes widened and he began to fidget with his wand, twirling it around in his hand like a baton. "Well…" He turned bright red and his hair started to stick up even more. "I thought maybe she was, too…but she hasn't been around much lately and…" He looked up at Draco and the Slytherin felt his cheeks warm up when he remembered seeing Potter and Chang getting off with each other. What would it be like if it were Potter and him instead? "She's in Hogsmeade today, I think. With her friends. Buying study guides for her NEWTS, I reckon. She should team up with Hermione and study."

"The Mudblood is studying for her NEWTS _already_?"

"_Don't call her that!" Potter shot back, his hand gripping his wand a little tighter than before._

"I'm just speaking the truth. Don't kill the messenger." 

"Malfoy," Harry asked through slitted eyes, "tell me, why _do you hate Muggles and Muggle-borns so much? Is it inbred into your family or something? " Harry leaned forward, his slim neck stretching out invitingly for Draco._

Draco blinked and tried not to focus on the piece of exposed flesh.  He answered with another question, "Have you ever thought of what the name Malfoy means?"

The Gryffindor boy studied Draco for a moment, his brow twisting into a knot of confusion. "Well…'mal' is French for 'bad', I think, and 'foy'…hmm…that's kind of like 'foi' or maybe 'foie'…like the 'gras' type?"

"'Foi' without an 'e' and it means 'faith'," Draco prompted.

"So, 'mal foi' means 'bad faith'?" Draco nodded. Harry scratched his head, messing up his perpetually tousled hair…

_Bet you'd just love to run your hands through it…_

"Bad faith?" Harry went on, impervious** to Draco's thoughts. "Like, say…evil?" **

"No, taken literally," Draco corrected with a small sneer. "My ancestors were French and Protestant- _not Catholic."_

"And evil, too?" Harry asked, a very Slytherinesque smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"No," Draco grinned half-heartedly, "they were wizards still, but Protestant, not evil. And that made them the wrong religion in France."

"They were Huguenots?"

So Harry must have paid attention to Professor Binns occasionally. _They say you learn something new everyday._

Draco nodded. "Secretly-they weren't stupid- and Potter don't say anything to that! They were wealthy and controlled the wizarding trade routes around this one town- where most of them lived- a couple hundred years ago."

"And?" Harry dragged his chair in closer.

Draco sighed, remembering what his father and mother had told him countless times.  "In about 1570-something, the Bartholomew Night's Massacre, they were slaughtered by a mob of Muggles under the pretense that they were Protestant."

"Not because they were wizards? Why don't you just hate French people?"

"Potter, their nationality is not the point! And, yes, being wizards certainly wouldn't have helped. Two different points for prejudice, I suppose. My father keeps all the records in his office at home. 312 slaughtered in a fortnight. Including all the children. The wells of the town ran red for two years afterwards." Draco paused, letting it sink into the other boy. "There was only one branch of the family that survived and they moved south into the Loire Valley, until they were executed, again, in 1793 for being 'enemies of the state'- they were nobility. Only a fifteen year old boy escaped that time."

"A direct ancestor of yours? He went to England then?"

"He had distant relatives here. The Godfreys, but they're mostly dead now, or squibs. That was my-" Draco counted off on his fingers, "five times great grandfather."

 "Wow." Harry seemed to be taking a moment to process some things. "So you hate Muggles because they decimated your family over two hundred years ago on the basis of _religion_?"

"I'll never forgive them for what they did. Burned some alive- after they cut out their tongues and shoved them down their throats- impaled a couple on fence-posts, hacked whole families to bits and fed them to the estate dogs, drowned a bunch. They only guillotined the last relatives. Most of them suffered horribly. The Cruciatus curses couldn't even begin to compare." Draco's eyes were blazing with dry hatred.

A pregnant silence descended over the library. Little animals were heard scurrying overhead in the rafters and there was an occasional flutter of bat wings.

Harry cleared his throat after some time. "Does the Malfoy family hold grudges forever? I thought that only I held a special place in the black pit of Draco Malfoy's heart." Harry laughed and tried to lighten the dark mood that had crept over the two teenagers.

Draco didn't smile back. Harry's neck that had prostrated itself out like a sacrifice as he leaned closer to Draco. Beautiful, golden. Slim lines that _begged _to be stroked with a finger or a tongue. Unconsciously, the Slytherin ran his index finger along the side of it. He felt the other boy shiver under his touch, but not turn away in disgust.

_What the _fuck _are you doing, Draco…?_

Giving into impulse.

"Oh, you do," Draco said huskily. "You always will…" He inched his face closer to Harry's.

Which met his. 

Their noses were nearly touching. He could taste Harry's breath on his lips- spice and pumpkin juice and chocolate. Its warmth tickled. His eyes fell to Harry's mouth that was shaking ever so slightly and pooling with blood, like his cheeks.

"Oh, my god! They have the new Dorothy Blue mystery romance out- _Dorothy Blue and the Secret of the Ancient Clairvoyant Wand!"_

The two shot apart to opposite side of the table. Draco whipped his head around to see what the shrieking was about.

A gaggle of second year Hufflepuffs had entered the library into the Romance section and were whispering amongst themselves. One of them noticed Harry Potter and then the whole group burst out into trills of girlish laughing. They checked their books out with Madam Pince then left promptly.

Draco turned back to look at Harry Potter himself. The boy was looking off out past the frosted glass windows that overlooked the steel-blue lake. He blinked a couple of times, his green eyes glowing a strange colour, like his god-forsaken necklace had the habit of doing.

Draco surrendered to the desire to touch the green stone that clung to Harry's neck like an ancient amulet. It was warm, like Harry's glorious skin, and prickled his fingers when he touched it when his fingers stroked the smooth gem. Oddly enough at the same time; it was cold, much too cold for something that should be warm after resting against a body all day. He felt a strange current run through his body in a jolt. Draco felt his limbs twitch slightly, and he enjoyed the strange sensation.

He was also enjoying the feeling of Harry's quickening of breath. The boy had his eyes still plastered to the window, but he had brought his hands up protectively close to his chest. It was almost…erotic to be there, alone in the library with Harry, to be doing this, to him…

_And he wasn't pulling away!_

At long last Harry turned. Their eyes met and Harry's flashed an ethereal green and pure white alternately, like lightning. So enticing and…

Draco sensed fingertips brush his cheek lightly and he leaned into the caress. It felt so…timeless and perfect.

Their breathing had met into the same rhythm now, nervous and wavering. Draco at last summoned something from the pit of his stomach and leaned forward across the books on the table, pressing his lips to Harry's.

_God, they are so soft and warm and…_

Draco _wanted to think at that moment and believe that what he- what __they were doing was wrong. That it was disgusting and erroneous. But he couldn't. Not when Harry pressed closer, more insistently into him and Draco could only respond by slowly tracing the other boy's lips with the tip of his tongue. He felt Harry shudder under it, before opening his mouth a tiny amount and snaking his arm around to Draco's shoulder blade._

_He wants more of me! _****

Draco let his own hand slide down Harry's side to lightly rest between his hip and the chair he sat in, which was difficult, considering they were both leaning over a table cluttered with open books. Harry began to tentatively nip and tug at the Slytherin's lower lip with his teeth and Draco wanted to moan out at the sheer pleasure and intrinsic _rightness_ he was feeling.

The Slytherin took over once more and plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth, maybe a little excitedly and sloppily. Draco could taste the dulcet undertones that he remembered so well from his dream two months before. The taste alone defined Harry Potter- sweet and spicy and exotic and familiar and so _so_ good all at once. It was worth the fumbling when Harry began to squirm against him in futile attempts to get closer. Then the boy let out his own low, faint, throaty moan-

- which sent Draco hurtling over the edge. He delved further into Harry's mouth, determined to get more of that taste that he was addicted to, like biting his fingernails. His senses were overloading with the proximity of Harry's taste and his smell and feel and his _everything_. Draco wanted to explore every cavern and cave of the Boy Who Lived's wonderful mouth that was gloriously sweet and salty at once. It moved so exquisitely with his own, like in the dream.

Draco pulled back momentarily. "Harry," he breathed _I want you so badly. You taste so good- your mouth alone!_ And he kissed him once more, even harder and with more passion than the last, deeper and determined to feel more of what he was feeling now, to feel more of the _intensity of the dream. He ignored the fact that they (supposedly)** hated each other, that anyone could walk into the library and catch them, that Madam Pince could turn around and drag them up to Dumbledore's office for inappropriate behavior in a place of research and study.**_

Harry's grip intensified as he clung to Draco's neck with increased force and his other hand ran over Draco's shoulders, feeling the bone and taught muscle Draco knew existed beneath his own shirt, but didn't know just how sensitive it could feel under someone else's touch.

He let out his own moan of pleasure.

Draco wondered what Harry would look like without his shirt- yes, he had seen it, but he wanted to see Harry topless and _knowing _that Draco wanted him and _wanting_ Draco back in return. He wanted to know what Harry would think of himself without a shirt on. The Slytherin's hands thought more quickly than his brain and had already begun their tugging at the hem of Harry's old, baggy checkered shirt.

This was either devilishly wicked (in a sexy way) or utterly stupid, depending on how Harry would react.

But the Famous Harry Potter only pressed closer to give Draco better access and opened his mouth even wider to Draco's tongue that ran along its mate. Just when the shirt was being pulled out of his belted waistband…

He tensed and jerked back from Draco.

Draco reeled from being wrenched from their embrace and had not time to react. He sat back, stunned, as Harry's open hand stung his face with a slap. ****

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? You sick perve!" 

**Author's Note:** The Muggle's Guide to Numerology was inspired, rather blatantly, from the Idiot's Guide to Numerology, which I own.  One day I will read it through.

"Famous Harry Potter" comes, of course, from Tom Felton, lovely little bugger that he is.

"Viverra" is Latin for ferret.

And, just for the record, my titles always have some hidden meaning. Like this one…

Thank you, as always, to my wonderful betas, Berne and Thalia for the quick, awesome edits on this chapter. Where would I be without you guys?

And _thank you to all of those who have reviewed so far. The more reviews I get, the faster I update this fic, discounting this chapter, which is a Valentine's present to my readers._

Don't expect the next chapter for at least a month. I am going on a holiday and I want to finish the fic. Plus, I don't have much incentive to work fast considering the number of reviews I got for chapter five. I don't want to be a bitch, but _review please!_


	7. Asperity

**Title: **The Subtle Knife (7/23)

**Author:** Ociwen

**Author E-mail:** ociwen@hotmail.com

**Category:** drama, slash

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Summary:** When Draco is given a mysterious dagger in his sixth year, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat? Chapter seven, featuring trashed cushions, detention with Snape, letters from home and polyjuice potion. (H/D slash)

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.**

****

**Chapter 7: Asperity**

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? You sick perve!" Harry was screaming at him. "I'm not stupid. You _can't _think that I would fall for that."

Draco felt his cheeks burn like torches in the Great Hall at dinner. His eyes were stinging in the corners, his tongue was choking him and his mouth went dry. He was overwhelmingly embarrassed and hurt by Potter's second rejection, over such a _mutual and unplanned kiss. He didn't know what to say, but despite that the words poured out effortlessly. "It will __never happen again, you poof!" he seethed, eyes blazing hate and anger and pain like never before. Anger put his emotions in check. "Potter germs!" he spat onto one of the books._

Harry's necklace for once did not match the dark pools of his eyes. While the pendant glowed a white-hot shade of green, his eyes were clouded by intense passion. "Don't _ever speak to me again, Malfoy," he hissed as Madam Pince walked over to silence them._

"Wouldn't dream of it, arsehole," Draco retorted, his nose wrinkling up in disgust.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, if you cannot keep your petty arguments quiet, I advise that you both leave _now."  Madam Pince leered over the rim of her bottle-thick glasses, tapping spidery fingers on the table._

Potter stomped off for another time that week from Draco and promptly left the library. Draco, scowling and stung, viciously collected up the books he had been using, in addition to the book of Henry Meelayna that Potter had conveniently left behind. "He's not getting that book back, ever," he mumbled to himself. He had to blink furiously to stop his eyes from pouring out of pain or pique. "Stupid bastard."

As nearly every other student above third year had gone to Hogsmeade that Saturday- to get a head start on holiday shopping, perhaps- Draco only came across a lone pair of second year girls as he stormed through the Slytherin common room. They scattered like pigeons when he flopped down on one of the leather settees by the fireplace. The fire was dead now, thanks to the inattention of the stupid bints. It felt cold, like his mood. Potter had…_reacted…_as though Draco didn't, couldn't have feelings for him. This made him even angrier that the Gryffindor could be so callous. 

He needed an outlet for his fury- he was shaking with rage and he felt as though he was about to boil over at the situation that had gone so terribly wrong. Draco proceeded to beat the stuffing out of one of the nearest cushions. It felt good to pretend that it was Potter. Draco was able to show the cushion exactly how he felt- he wrung it like a neck.

"You stupid-" Punch. "-fuckwit." Kick. "You goddammed-" Tearing at the seam with his teeth (his fingernails were bitten). "-coward. I fucking-" Viciously ripping out the stuffing. "-hate your fucking-" Throwing shredded stuffing around the room. "-guts! I can't believe that I fucking kissed you!" Grinding the mangled bits of the cushion into the cold flagstone floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Kissed who, Draco?" A sultry voice wafted in through the shifting stones in the wall and Blaise Zabini swiveled in the entrance.

Draco glared at her furiously. "Fuck. Off." he punctuated. "I don't need to deal with you now."

Blaise shrugged indifferently. Her blood-red bottom lip pouted slightly. "I can only hope you're not going on about Pansy."

Draco's lip curled in disgust.

"I didn't think so. Look, love, if you want to talk-"

"I thought you were in Hogsmeade, Blaise. What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarled. He wanted to be alone to stew in his own rejection.

"Watch your tongue, Malfoy," she spat back. "If I'd wanted to hear the word 'fuck' used that many times, I would hang around Ron Weasley when he talks about you."

Draco snorted. _Stupid Weasel. Stupid Potter! "I don't need that from _you_." He glared at her, some of his anger dissipating into the lagoons of her eyes. "What __are you doing here, then?" he asked in an annoyed, less-angry voice, his emotion in stronger restraint._

Blaise managed to smile a little. "I have my reasons- but you don't need to know exactly why." She bent down and picked up a scrap of batting, rubbing it between well-manicured crimson-tipped fingers. "Hate the cushions that much? Snape won't appreciate having to get it replaced."

"Not as much as some people," Draco relented. He hadn't thought about Snape not liking vandalism from even his own Slytherins. Not that it mattered- his father would pay for repairs if needed.

"Mmm…true." Blaise blinked her large, almond-shaped eyes. "I can think of two at least."

Draco sneered at her. "Who then?"

"Potter, for one…and this new person of yours."

New person? He wasn't _seeing anyone. Not anymore, anyway. Draco ran a hand absently through his hair, letting a strand or two fall over his face. "That's none of your business."_

Blaise smiled softly, red lips curling invitingly.

But not like Potter's had…

_Fuck!_

"Another girl spurn your amorous advances?"

Draco wished he was a Gorgon; that his stare would turn Blaise into a stone statue and shut her up.

"Hit too close to home?" She ran her hand across Draco's shoulder. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to console him or put on her moves.

Like Potter had an hour previous…

_Fuck him to Hell!_

"Don't worry. I won't tell." Her laughed rang about the vaulted dungeon. "Anyone who can resist the charms of a Malfoy is either out of their mind or…in Gryffindor."

"Neither of which you are."

"I didn't say _you were charming, Draco." She looked at him seriously, her attractiveness betraying her cause. "Often, you're the exact opposite- just a bratty little boy. Especially when you don't get what you want."_

Draco stared at her. Blaise had never said anything so bluntly to him before, and so frank about himself. He was a little offended by being called a bratty little boy; he narrowed his eyes.

Blaise sighed. "You might not speak to me ever again for saying that Draco, but I know you and I sincerely doubt you even _tried_ to talk to this girl. You came on too fast and too strong. _Talk_ to her. Then let things roll."

_If only you knew, Blaise. I can't exactly talk to Potter any time I feel like it._

At this point in his life, Draco was grateful for Blaise's honest and candid opinion and for her friendship that went beyond Pansy's randiness or Crabbe and Goyle's goon-like bodyguard personas.

He just stood there as Blaise wandered off to her dorm, less vengeful than earlier, but just as hurt by Potter's more recent and more personal rejection.

Blaise's advice that he talk to her- he laughed inwardly at this. Potter was _not a girl, and he was strangely glad for this. Not at the fact that Potter was a boy- he'd never really been attracted to boys before this- but at the fact that it was _Harry Potter_ with whom he was smitten. The girl _did_ have good advice, backed up by the fact that she had been with a lot of men (Draco hoped) and she did have a lot of experience. It was rumoured that even in second year she'd been using her feminine wiles to her own scholastic benefit._

However, there was the issue of exactly what he would say to Harry- if Draco _did speak to him. Explain that he was sorry for that amazing kiss they'd shared? No, because first off, he _wasn't_ sorry for it and he wanted, this once, to be sincere. That left Draco with the uncomfortable and potentially awkward experience of explaining to Harry Potter that he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, sworn arch-rival (he had sworn an oath in second year over a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ with Crabbe and Goyle) to the person in question, was possibly attracted to him and that he _possibly_ wanted to pursue a relationship with him. Then Draco could casually ask Harry if he would be, maybe, interested in grabbing a Butterbeer sometime in Hogsmeade together or play one-on-one Quidditch one afternoon._

_Ugh!_

Draco mentally cursed himself. If this 'talk' with Harry Potter went wrong in any way it would not only thoroughly embarrass himself but likely shame his father into disowning him and steer Draco away from any other relationships in his life after the trauma. This would render him either to a) take a vow of chastity or b) only involve himself in one-night stands. This also had the potential to scar him for the remainder of his existence and every other following one, even if he had bad karma and came back as a silverfish or something else unpleasant. ****

Draco deliberated long and agonizingly hard on this issue all evening. His earlier outburst had been seemingly tempered by the dark calm of the dungeons. He was only interrupted later by a house elf sent by Professor Snape. Snape must have heard about Draco's being 'under the weather' from Crabbe or Blaise or someone like that, because the creature brought a steaming bowl of soup and warm bread.

Draco also had the urge to 'borrow' some of Potter's marijuana. If it made his life a little easier, maybe it would make the dull ache Draco now had disappear.

He finally came to the conclusion, while nibbling on a corner of a piece of bread, to approach Harry after Potions on Wednesday (Monday was too soon- he needed to gather his strength). Draco could have decided to trip or beat up the other boy, but he didn't think Harry would appreciate that at all. Especially if Draco wanted a chance with him. No, he could pull Potter, by the hem of his robes if needed, into an abandoned room in the dungeons- of which there were plenty- and plead his case. Ideally, Harry would still be angry, then be somewhat perplexed by Draco's begging, but also be more than willing to forgive him. Harry was a Gryffindor and it was in his nature to be all noble and forgiving and such. If Potter could forgive the Weasel for being such an arsehole (in Draco's opinion) about the Triwizard Tournament two years back, surely he could also find room in his heart to forgive Draco for being a prick.

Even though Harry should have been at equal fault for their kiss…

Draco was careful to avoiding any other Gryffindor; they seemed to all glare at him in the hallways. Harry and company made themselves scarce after spending Potions and Care of Magical Freaks together. By Tuesday evening Draco had a whole speech prepared: "Potter, I need to talk to you…"

In the anticipation that all would go well, more or less, Draco wrote his father a brief letter expressing his intentions to remain at Hogwarts for Christmas under the pretense that he wanted to "…keep an eye on things…". He didn't add that he never gave the dagger to Harry or that Harry was the real reason he wanted to stay.

Wednesday. The morning dragged on painfully slowly with Draco watching his watch the whole of Charms, willing it to speed up so that he could win over Harry's affections sooner and be able to kiss him again. Although, the growing pit in his stomach wanted the clock to slow down too.

At lunch Draco couldn't eat. He pushed his food around his plate in circles with his fork and stared blankly towards the direction of the Gryffindor table. Harry sat so that his back faced Draco- likely on purpose, he surmised.

_Stupid prat- no, wait, look at me!_

But Harry didn't and Draco had to hope for the best to come to fruition out of their talk later.

Potions came…_finally, after an eternity it seemed and Snape set them to work on their Purity serums; Purity serums were mostly used by aging, antediluvian wizarding parents on their children before their wedding nights- a very archaic and seldom-used practice now. Draco was slightly worried that Snape would test them out. The victim in question turned out to be a deeper shade of indigo the more 'dirtied' they were, but the sort of purity it was used to determined varied so greatly from virginity to vegetarianism that only thirteen year old girls were the only ones who used them anymore (at sleepovers, no less) so they were pointless to try out._

Even Snape wasn't that crackbrained, though the Gryffindors might argue otherwise.

Draco, however, was so nervous about his upcoming 'chat' with Potter that he nearly ruined his potion and seemed as hopeless as Longbottom. His hands shook as he poured the Poison Dart Frog extract (for colour) into his cauldron instead of adding it by the drop. He cut his Orris root at a diagonal when it should have been across the vertical grain in the up-down motion Snape had demonstrated back in his first year. Snape had, of course, gone over the cutting technique twice every year for Longbottom's benefit (not that he profited). Draco was so lost with internally going over his rehearsed speech that he forgot to stir the serum widdershins-

"_Pfssss..."_

His wooden spoon that he had been stirring the serum with melted to the side of the cauldron.

But Draco was oblivious to it all, focused solely on the talk. _Potter, I need- would like- to talk to you…_

Until Snape got over to his cauldron which, in being in the front row of the class, was one of the last to be inspected.

It had begun to give off horrible sulfuric fumes that coiled in the air around him. At this point, Draco realised that, firstly, there was something wrong with his serum (his spoon wouldn't stir) and, secondly, that his serum was ruined. He frantically ripped his spoon off the edge it had melted to (which caused the spoon to split lengthwise) and began to stir his potion quickly clockwise (the wrong direction) as Snape walked by in an effort to change the orange pudding-like substance into something a little clearer and waterier.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he peered down his hooked nose at Draco's mess, prodding the remainder of the spoon (which was floating aimlessly in the cauldron at the point) with his wand. "Mr. Malfoy," he said with a sneer, though not as coldly as he had at Weasley's own mud-coloured slime, "_what_ is this?"

Draco sighed and looked down at the floor. "I don't know, Sir," he drawled and tried to pass it off as if his serum were passable.

"Well, do you know what happened to cause this…_abomination_?" Snape tried again, impatiently.

Draco felt his insides wither. Snape had never told him one of his potions was that horrible before. "No, Sir…" He needed something, someone to blame it on- a scapegoat of sorts.

Then an idea hit him! 

"I think perhaps someone tried to sabotage my serum." 

Snape raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He frowned and Draco worried that Snape would yell at him for lying, too. "Can you think of anyone who would want to do that?" he asked after a moment.

Draco, whose mind was still elsewhere, blurted out the first person that came to mind.

"Harry Potter"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stupid. Stupid! _Stupid!_

_You can be such an idiot sometimes!_ he told himself over and over. _You had to blame Potter for your mistake- he'll hate you even more now!_

At least Potions was the last class of the day, so Snape kept the two students after the lesson as opposed to having them come after dinner.

"As Mr. Potter _ruined your serum, Mr. Malfoy, I feel privileged to give detention to him as well as yourself." Snape glided across the dungeon classroom, pacing as though waiting for something more._

"But Sir!" Draco protested vehemently. "I haven't-"

"Done _anything wrong? Of course not, Mr. Malfoy."_

Snape knew! He _had to have known Draco was lying all the while. _

"But under the circumstances-" Snape shot Draco a look, black eyes boring into Draco's own. Draco felt himself shrink in height considerably. "-you can join Mr. Potter in detention this afternoon."

There was a knock at the door to the classroom and Professor Sprout waddled in, arms full of some green bushy plants. The plants were making a strange buzzing sound that seemed to make the rafters vibrate. Snape took the plants from her with a curt nod and then she waddled back out in a hurry.

Snape set the plants down on the lab bench between Draco and Potter. "This, gentlemen, is the West African Singing Fern, useful in Restorative Draughts. I expect it all to be ground into a satisfactory powder before _either _of you may leave. I also expect you don't need a babysitter?" He sneered at them one last time, and then left the room in a whirl of black robes.

Sometimes Draco could honestly see why the Gryffindors snickered about Snape looking like a bat.

Draco sighed. Lovely. He picked up his mortar and pestle (marble, with silver inlay) to move closer to where Potter was sitting in the back. The ferns hummed and shrieked in an even higher-pitched tuneless squeal. 

His ears were ringing.

He wanted earmuffs. 

He wanted Harry to forgive him and kiss him again.

Potter smashed a bunch of the ferns with fervour and just glared at Draco as the Slytherin boy sat down beside him. Potter didn't seem keen on anything like a come-on at the moment.

Draco thought a little small talk first might lighten the mood. And butter Harry up to be wooed. "There must be, what, ten pounds of that stuff, Potter?" he asked cockily as he began to grind some of the leaves up with his pestle.

Potter at least had the dignity to grunt in acknowledgement. 

Draco wasn't pleased with the reply, though he wasn't much surprised. He tried again. "How long do you think it'll take us? At least two hours, I expect."

More than enough time to put his plan to action; this really was made easier by being alone in private with Harry in the empty classroom compared to Draco needing to get his attention in the halls.

Potter didn't even grunt this time, he only glared behind his dorky, out-of-date glasses.

Draco groaned. He was being so _difficult_! Maybe a different approach would have better results. "Look, Potter- _Harry- what happened in the library on Saturday-"_

Potter whipped his head around and his pestle clanged to the floor. "This isn't about what happened there, _Malfoy_," he spat. "Why did you do it?"

Draco blinked. "K-kiss you?" he offered.

"No! Open your big mouth today?" Potter resumed smashing his ferns (which were still shrieking) even harder. His fingertips were green from the juices oozing up. "You _know I didn't do anything. Snape __knows too."_

Draco flicked a little speck of dust from his shiny prefect's badge, unwilling to look Potter in the eye and wanting to appear oblivious to Potter's accusations. "Well, I can't tarnish my reputation," he said simply.

"But you don't have the same courtesy to anyone else!" Potter was growing increasingly exasperated it seemed.

"Actually," Draco paused, "that's not why I said it…exactly."

Potter's brow furrowed and he only managed to look confused on top of being ticked off.

The Slytherin sighed. "Look, Potter, I need to talk to you. I-" He fidgeted with a fern, stripping the leaves off from the stalk.

Potter seemed to know exactly what Draco wanted to talk about. "Malfoy, I don't know how you've gotten the impression in your mind that I have anything other than intense loathing for you. I chose to help you in the library these weekends because I felt…sorry…for you- totally clueless with that stupid knife of yours." Harry's fingers began to toy with his malachite pendant. "You and I are enemies. We'll always be enemies and I'm happy with that." Harry gave a smirk and Draco was struck at how much it reminded him of his own expressions. "I _hate you."_

Draco's lower lip began to quiver and a lump the size of Goyle's fist formed in his throat. His eyes stung. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Not today, not ever. He turned to face the wall and blink away the tears forming in his eyes. Oh Harry…

He couldn't let Potter see his emotions. He couldn't let Potter break him. If anything, it had to be the other way around.

"I hate you," he said in a choked voice that he hoped sounded better than it felt. "More than anything, Potter. More than _anything_."

"Good, because the feeling is mutual." Potter hissed back.

"I hope you burn in Hell- with your parents!" Draco added for good measure, but it didn't help much and he still felt miserable.

Potter's jaw dropped. He looked stunned to hear Draco say something so nasty. He had a look of pure and unadulterated rage on his face. His lips were drawn and colourless, his eyes huge and he was as pale as a vampire. Potter's fist was balled up on the desk and ready to strike but he didn't move.

"Bloody poof," Mumbled.

Draco heard the mumble. "What did you just say?" He snapped his head over to glare at Potter. "What. Did. Y-"

Potter's own eyes were slits. His fist loosened slightly. "You are a poof, Malfoy. Stay away from me."

Draco's mouth dropped open. How dare Potter accuse him of that? "I'm no more a fag than you are."

Potter had the nerve to snort. "Even if we weren't enemies, I don't swing that way and if I ever did, it wouldn't be for you."

Draco's eye twitched irritably and he thought his hand was shaking. He didn't look down to check, instead he grabbed hold of the nearest shrill fern and began to smash it into his mortar forcefully. 

Just then the door swung open and Snape strode in. He glanced over at Potter with a cold sneer. "I trust the two of you have been _productive_?" he asked as he sat down at his desk with a pile of paper to grade.

Draco narrowed his eyes and didn't say anything. Potter looked furious and his green eyes were glowing with a strange, ethereal glow. Though he wouldn't have ever admitted it, Draco was glad for Snape's return. Potter could have done something very rash, like hit the Slytherin, especially since Draco didn't have Crabbe or Goyle anywhere nearby.

It only took the two boys an hour to crush (to smithereens) the ferns to a powder. Snape had never been more impressed by the two of them working 'together' though he didn't exactly say that.

"Now get out!" he snarled at the boys after they had presented him with their respective powders. Potter left immediately; Draco hung back. He needed to sort his business out with the Potions Master.

Snape didn't look pleased when he noticed Draco was still there. "Has Potter sabotaged your hearing as well, Malfoy?" The Professor pulled a vial of lacewing** from an unlocked storage cupboard, then several more bottles and jars of stored concoctions.**

"Sir?"

Snape spun around, glaring.

"Er…isn't lacewing poisonous?" Draco asked, focusing on the vial. Snape didn't seem to be opening up much, or wanting to open up.

"Exceedingly. But it is vital to Polyjuice Potion, as you should know."

Draco nodded. His father had told him that years ago. "Then…why are you getting it out?" he said after a pause.

Snape scowled. Clearly, Draco's questions were asinine and insistently aggravating. "I am nearly out of Polyjuice Potion. I need to brew some more." He held a half-emptied jar, setting it aside on a table with the other containers. "Last amount of double strength batch I have."

"For what, Sir?" Draco couldn't imagine why Snape needed Polyjuice Potion- maybe he was just experimenting with the longevity of it, or was a really kinky wizard.

"It proves its uses from time to time."

_Eugh._

This wasn't going in the direction it should be.

"Oh." Draco piled his books, quickly stuffing the jar into his bag- Snape wouldn't notice. There were so many other potions set beside it on the table, all unlabelled. He began to walk towards the corridor.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape beckoned with a thin finger; Draco stopped abruptly. A small smirk spread across Snape's sallow face. 

_Shit._

"Perhaps you should be a little more careful with your attention skills next class. I would prefer not to have to give _you_ further detentions for adolescent recklessness."

Draco blinked once. 

He nearly sighed in relief. _Thank God!_

Draco really, strongly suspected Snape knew more than what he let on and he left the classroom swiftly to avoid any possible awkwardness, especially if Snape didn't appear to be talking.

Draco didn't have any classes at all with Potter or the Gryffindors the following day, which was fine as far as he was concerned. Potter had taken a page from Draco's own book and glowered at the Slytherin that night at dinner, then leaned over to whisper something in the Weasel's ear. Weasley returned Draco's own glare and matched it with a finger.

_Well, fuck you too!_

The mail arrived Thursday morning with one of the Malfoy family eagle owls among the usual array of Barn and Tawny owls. It landed perilously close to Draco's sausages and he pushed it away roughly before it pompously strutted over his plate waiting for its burden to be removed.

Draco took the package and the attached parchment before the owl flew off in a flurry of feathers that drifted into Goyle's porridge. Goyle didn't notice. 

Draco's package was larger and heavier than usual- there was something more than the custard creams and other sweets his mother usually sent.

He broke the dark wax seal embossed with a silver dragon. It was snorting at him. He unrolled the parchment. Stiff, bold, black lettering. Formulaic and harsh. A letter from his father. His eyes scanned the letter quickly, not wanting to attract attention:

_Draco,_

_I have taken your request to remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays into consideration and concluded that your reasoning has proved acceptable. Keep an eye out for me there._

_Your mother is, however, saddened to learn that you will not be returning to the Manor over the holidays. Nevertheless, you are of an age where you should be capable of making your own judgments in the best interest of both yourself and all concerned (namely, your family).  _

_If you do reconsider, your mother is planning a large Christmas gathering of our close acquaintances. It will be a formal event, as per the usual. Return at your own discretion, though, the house elves have been particularly mutinous since you last had to deal with them._

_Your mother sends her love and best wishes,_

_Father_

_P.S. I have sent you a little something from my most recent business trip to tide you over._

Draco scowled. He did not want to stay at Hogwarts now, not since Potter had spurned him again. Potter now had a dark and a dirty secret of Draco's which could be used against him. Draco didn't like to think that Potter, being the goody-goody Gryffindor, would resort to use blackmail, but he was nonetheless worried for his reputation. Either he had to pursue Potter further to prevent any _negative retaliation or take the offensive himself and hurt Harry Potter beyond belief._

Plus there was the fact that Draco wanted to be next year's Head Boy. Not all of the professors and other prefects' votes could be won over with large pecuniary bribes.

Plus he didn't want to really hurt Harry in the first place…he _wanted_ him.

Plus there was the whole fact his father was a murderer.

_Oh God…_

Draco felt ill. He regretted eating all of the baconthat he had.

"What?" Crabbe grunted, briefly leaving his food.

"Hear from home?" Goyle shoveled a heaping spoonful of porridge into his mouth, spraying food as he spoke.

Draco grimaced. "Yes. I'm staying here for Christmas."

Pansy, who was sitting several seats down and across from Draco, perked up. "That's too bad. I was invited to your parents' party. I thought you would have been there…" She looked at him hopefully with big brown eyes outlined in black. Her eyelashes were batting and her hands neatly folded together.

Draco narrowed his own eyes back at her. He wasn't falling for her prim and put-together charade now or ever. Pansy must have gotten the hint because she quickly became very interested in Queenie Greengrass' new haircut.

After breakfast, Draco had a free period so he went back to the Slytherin Common Room to study and open his sweets from home. He was sitting in the empty room, languidly on a couch and ripping open the package. There, along with his Chocolate Frogs and custard creams was a lacquered box tied with a white ribbon. Draco glared at the box. What did his father send him now, a finger from a murder victim? A Muggle's doll from the wreckage, perhaps? ****

He undid the ribbon with difficulty, as his nails were chewed down low. He lifted the lid, ominously anticipating a horrible, rotting flesh stench-

Chocolates.

_The bastard had sent me chocolates!_

That was what his father had been thinking of when he was murdering Muggles and Mudbloods- _what shall I possibly get Draco here? I'll have to find something after I go sabotage a train of Muggles…_

Draco screamed and threw the box into the fireplace of the common room. The box lit up in orange and gold and vermilion flames licking at the foil wrappers of the chocolates. The chocolates themselves started to melt, then flamed, then burned. Then they burned some more. 

_Was that what the massacre had been like? Did the train burn up like the sodding chocolates are now?_

The acrid smell of burning sugar hit Draco and he coughed. He tried to fan the smell away from his face, but it only grew so much that he panicked someone would find out he was burning things and fled the common room. Snape had given them all the lecture in their first year not to burn anything but the logs specifically set aside for the fire and that there would be dire consequences for anyone who chose to disregard that.

If that was what burning a pound or so of chocolate did, Draco couldn't imagine how his father ever got the stench of burning, searing, charring flesh out of his nostrils….

_My life is so fucked up._

When asked later that day if he knew anything about the horrible smell in the fireplace, Draco didn't claim any responsibility for the burned mess he had caused. Filch had been summoned to clean the fireplace out after a first year had complained to Snape that his eyes were puffy from the smoke. Plus the Common Room downright stunk. A seventh year had claimed they saw Draco toss the chocolates in, but Draco vehemently denied it. He just didn't have the heart to be accountable for his actions that day, or explain to Snape why he had to get rid of the Swiss chocolates his father had sent.

On the way from Arithmancy the next morning, Draco happened to brush by Granger speaking with Girl Weasley. Draco could only assume the youngest Weasel was just going to her own Arithmancy class- Professor Vector had a fifth year class just after her sixth years. When the name "Harry" was mentioned, Draco happened to slow down his pace to a creep to get a better listen.

"_Harry's been really upset the past few days, Hermione. What's wrong with him- has he said anything to you?" The Weasley girl seemed a little too concerned about Potter for Draco's liking. He felt furious at her concern. Potter didn't belong to _her_! What was this- the result of a five-year crush? That was pathetic! Her voice sounded too sympathetic and contrived for him._

The Mudblood nodded sagely. "He's probably really worried about Cho. She's been really sick lately. Lisa Turpin told Parvati that she's missed the Quidditch practice for Ravenclaw twice and that last week she-"

At this point Draco had slowly inched forward to the point of hovering behind the statue of Ivan the Impregnable that Granger and Girl Weasley had been leaning against. Granger whipped her bushy head around and scowled at Draco, hands on her hips.

"What do _you want, Malfoy? Spying on us now?" _

Draco snorted. "You wish." He leaned back gracefully against the statue. "No," he drawled after they continued to glare; he didn't want to sound interested in what they had been talking about, "just getting more inside information on my favourite hero- Harry Potter." He gave a theatrical swoon at the name for effect.

Granger wasn't impressed. She didn't move her eyes from him. "You hate Harry."

Draco rolled his eyes. Gryffindors were all so terribly dense. "That's a given."

Girl Weasel stepped up. "Sod off, Malfoy," she said in a small voice.

Draco had to laugh- she hadn't changed one iota in five years! "Sorry Weasley, I have better things to do with my life than stick around and trade insults with the likes of you." He began to saunter off away to his next class.

"You- you'll never get to Harry!" The Weasley girl cried out after him with increasing confidence. "No matter what you do, Malfoy, you'll _never_ get to him!"

When Draco had left their field of vision he stopped for a moment. 

_Stupid bint!_

With this new information regarding Potter's current flame, Draco found himself sneaking into the prefects' study room late that night (being a Friday) with the small jar of Polyjuice Potion under the folds of his black velvet cloak- the black one without the lace.

He would have used his Invisibility Cloak but Crabbe had borrowed it to spy on Tracey Davis in the girls' dorm when she was undressing. He didn't want to let anyone think he was interested in seeing Pansy's naked body ever again.

Draco shuddered at the imagery.

He was, however, struck with the idea of using it to watch Harry Potter undress, but he didn't know the Gryffindor password and doubted the Head Boy or Head Girl would give it to him. Only members of a particular house and prefects were allowed in other house dorms, with good reason, of course.

_No, you want to woo Harry Potter properly! Not watch him like a stalker._

He didn't want to risk being discovered by Peeves- he shuddered at the memory of having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head in his second year- or by the other ghost who was rumored to haunt occasionally nearby- Whining Wendy, or something, so he didn't bother to use the Lumos charm with his wand. He was a Malfoy; he could see in the dark well enough, even if it were only dim shapes in varying shades of grey.

Draco was fairly certain he had remembered to take his most recent dose of Oculus Potion in early November.

_Hmm…_ Draco's hands cautiously fingered and felt their way along the shelves than ran along the walls of the room. He tried not to bump or trip over the oversized armchairs that littered the space either.

_Where is that book of hers?_

Cho Chang conveniently kept a notebook record of the prefects' meetings. He knew she would diligently keep it up to date before preparing the meetings' minutes biweekly to distribute to all of the prefects.

It was a big book…leather cover…no, mokeleather cover…scaly feeling? Draco tried to remember what a moke felt like, but his visit to a wizard's zoo when he was eight wasn't very memorable...It was usually where, on the…on the second to bottom shelf by the…near- no, _far wall and the hanging fern…_

Then, Draco's head hit something squarely, thought it was rather soft and swinging and entangling and earthy- the fern!

He was elated; he was close. He _so _didn't need a wand for this. Draco crouched to the floor beside the wall. His fingers glided along the bare wooden shelving before colliding with a bumpy, scaly, albeit soft, cover.

The book!

He snatched it up and clutched it to his chest, bolting out of the room haphazardly and conveniently forgetting the locking spell on the door.

Draco ran down to the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room before jumping onto his bed breathless from the excursion of running down sixflights of stairs. And more importantly from the anticipation of putting his plan to action for _Harry_…

"Claudo Velum!" Draco whispered frantically and the heavy curtains around his bed zipped shut. He held out his wand and lit it as he peered down at the book. He opened the first page:

_Prefect Meetings Record 1996-1997_

_Property of Cho Chang, Head Girl_

Draco gave the small, straight lettering a raised eyebrow. Chang did have nice printing.

But Harry was going to be his!

Draco smoothed out the coverlet on his bed under the book and decided that the best way to do it would be the fastest way. He held the book up by both covers, in a sort of 'v', the pages all splayed open and shook the book furiously. Papers rustled wildly. He continued to shake it in hopes to find the elusive and crucial piece of Cho Chang to fall out. A hair, a fingernail, a flake of skin, a hair ribbon…

The lint stirred up fluoresced in the dank, stale air from the light but nothing fell. Draco squinted closer- he _really_ didn't think he had missed his due date to take his bimonthly Oculus Potion earlier.

Still nothing.

He shook the book a second time, harder, more viciously so much so that the papers threatening to unfasten from the binding.

But only more lint.

"Fuck!" He threw the book to the foot of his bed and ran a hand through his hair. The bitch was too clean, too immaculate, too perfect to even leave a trace of herself.

A draft of early winter wind fluttered the curtains airily around Draco and the book stirred, finally coming to rest on the first page with the Head Girl's inscription. Draco glared at the name, hating Cho Chang for foiling yet another of his plans.

Property of Cho Chang.

_Cho Chang_

He blinked.

The printing. "Cho Chang", spelled out in the girl's own printing. He tore the page from the book crookedly, the last tear grazing nearly to the small, circular 'c'.

He grinned devilishly to himself. Would that be enough? It was hardly an actual piece of the girl, but it was her handwriting and her name. Surely the potion would recognize that much…

Draco was busy with Quidditch practice on Saturday, being the last practice before the Christmas holidays (and the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game was coming up soon- January), so he was determined to use the potion the following day- _as soon as possible!_

He woke up early on Sunday, and, too excited and (almost) too nervous to eat breakfast, proceeded to a relatively isolated girls' lavatory on the first floor. Luckily, no one else was up at that hour to see the Slytherin enter otherwise it would have been the end of his life at Hogwarts.

_And getting it on with Harry Potter wouldn't do the same?_

Draco sneered at himself. He didn't have time to second guess himself. Two hours was all the time he had to 1) change into Cho Chang, 2) find Harry Potter and 3) woo Harry before revealing his true identity in a flourish. Draco hoped he could achieve all that. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys don't fail.

Draco rolled the torn page tightly and shoved it into the neck of the glass bottle before capping it with a cork. He gave it several rough shakes to stir it all up and dissolve the paper. The liquid deepened to a nice shade of Prussian blue and bubbled a little inside the jar. Draco hoped the potion wouldn't burst out of the jar.

He glanced down at his uniform and smirked, having already taken off his school cloak. Clearly his trousers and his jumper, in addition to a green and silver Slytherin tie wouldn't do. Draco pointed his wand to them and concentrated on changing them into a Ravenclaw girl's outfit.

"Ipsevestio Ravenclaw!"

His clothes shifted and twisted and bunched…

…before changing into a skirt with pantyhose and the blue and bronze of a Ravenclaw tie.

Perfect.

Draco walked over to a mirror and examined himself. The pantyhose were itching his thighs and he picked at them. How girls managed in them was beyond him- they were _so uncomfortable._

His reflection preened as he did and sneered back. "Cute look, Draco," it catcalled.

Draco looked down at his legs, being clad in sheer black material, mentally agreeing that he probably did look ridiculous. He picked at his knee. "But it brings out the nice contours of my legs." He winked at the reflection, which rolled its eyes in disgust.

Okay. Now he was ready.

Draco picked up the jar and removed the cork for the last time, wafting the fumes carefully towards his nose. The potion smelled heavily of rotting bogs in the forest and lavender and slightly of…blueberries? 

_Eugh…essence of Cho Chang._

He brought it closer to his mouth, pinched his nose with his free hand.

_Fuck! Here it goes…_

He squeezed his eyes together in anticipation and downed the entire contents in one gulp.

**Author's Notes:**

Silverfish comes from Barry Trotter and the Unauthorized Parody. It is one of the houses at Hogwash. 

The Muggle's doll from the wreckage- think Mulan.

"Claudo Velum" comes from Marysia's The Marks We Bear. A wonderful slash fic that you should go read.

 "Ipsevestio" being "Ego ipse vestio" in Latin, which is "I dress myself" 

"Essence of Cho Chang" is via Rupert Grint's "Essence of Crabbe"

Thanks to Thalia and Berne, as always, for their diligent and delightful beta work. They make this fic the story I see it to be. Without them, it wouldn't be what it is.

And thanks to all my readers and, especially, reviewers- I appreciate your reviews _so much. I am writing it for you guys as much as myself. _

Like it? Loathe it? Tell me why!


	8. Symposium

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Title: The Subtle Knife (08/23)

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Author name: Ociwen

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Author email: ociwen@hotmail.com

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Keywords: Draco Harry Dagger H/D Slash

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Rating: R

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Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA

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Summary: When Draco is given a mysterious dagger by his father in his sixth year, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat?

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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.  
  
The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

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Chapter 8: Symposium 

Draco squeezed his eyes tightly as he felt his insides being ripped and wrenched apart. He wanted to puke, he wanted to curl up in pain, he wanted to-

It stopped. 

And the world stopped spinning.

Carefully, he opened his eyes and blinked, before slowly turning to face the mirror in the bathroom.

Cho Chang. 

Utterly dishevelled and stunned, was staring back at him.

Draco laughed in relief. A quiet, feminine voice emerged from his throat and he laughed again. The potion had worked after all!

__

One down, two to go.

Draco gathered up the moke-leather book and slipped his robes back on, flattening out any possible creases. He smoothed his hair down- it was strange having long, dark hair. It felt coarser than his own and heavy. The mirror smirked back at him.

That wouldn't do. He thought of Harry and tried to smile sweetly like Chang did, but he ended up with more of a sickly-saccharine icing face.

It would do.

He opened the door to the corridor and stepped out of the loo cautiously. _So far, so good._ Now he needed-

__

Wait…

Draco took a moment to glance down at his chest and the two strange lumps of flesh. He poked at one and found it…_interesting_.

He smiled. If he had some time later with Harry, he'd have to further investigate them for himself.

But then Draco noticed a distinctly shaped Slytherin crest with the silver snake on the left breast. Shit! He couldn't remember how to transfigure Hogwarts crests. They were enchanted for a reason.

He glanced down at his wristwatch. One hour, fifty-five minutes left. He trusted Snape's potion-making skills that this wouldn't be a faulty double-strength batch. He had just enough time to find a Ravenclaw to fix his robes (fifteen minutes, tops) and then find Harry (fifteen, maybe twenty minutes) and woo him (an hour and fifteen minutes- he needed five to start explaining the situation).

Draco walked towards the west side of the castle and up four flights of stairs, past the portrait of the Lady Peony Spickleton-Hives, who had the indecency to wink at him. Normally, he wouldn't have minded- the lady was nice enough on the eyes, but he was a girl now. So instead of winking back like he might have under other circumstances, he gave the portrait a disgusted sneer and pushed back a long lock of dark hair that had fallen in his eyes.

He knew the vague area of the Ravenclaw dorms, that it was somewhere on the fourth-floor down the south-west corridor lined with late medieval suits of armour. The armour had the habit of posing in different prostrations from time to time, demonstrating their prowess every minute or so and the regular creeks of old, unused iron were somewhat settling.

But…Draco felt a strange knot of both worry and anticipation pretzel itself inside him. What if Cho Chang suddenly showed up, not ill? What if Harry hated Chang now? What if someone else found him and took him back to the Ravenclaw dorms all afternoon or to the hospital wing or to the Headmaster's office?

What if Harry still didn't want _him_?

It didn't help that nearly everything down the corridor in question was a garish shade of blue or bronze. The armour was bronze-plated. The peeling tapestries were rust and frayed cobalt. Even the occasional one was tone-on-tone navy.

The corridor wasn't overly long and as Draco neared the large (cornflower blue) stained glass window, he was beginning to get disheartened. There was nothing remotely resembling an entrance into dorms here. He was nearly prepared to march up to the Prefects' meeting in his Slytherin robes anyway.

"Cho!"

Draco didn't think to turn around at the sound of his current name. He walked on, oblivious to the other student.

"Cho!" A hand spun his shoulder around and he found that Chang's body was more pliable than he would have imagined a girl's to be.

A Ravenclaw prefect of Draco's year was staring at him. He couldn't remember her name exactly. Something…Foster? Fawcett?

He gave the girl a winning smile despite this. "Ah! Just the person I was looking for…." he trailed off.

"It's Stephanie." Clearly Cho wasn't terribly good with names from her own house. "Stephanie Fawcett." 

Her eyes wrinkled with puzzlement and she dragged him backward towards the staircases at the opposite end of the hallway. "Why are you wearing a Slytherin robe?" she spat after a moment.

"Oh." Draco was dumbfounded. He hadn't thought of a reason for that yet. "Oops?" he offered, but she just glared.

He never knew Ravenclaws could be so bitchy!

He tried again. "Er…Draco Malfoy hexed them?" _Good excuse!_ "And I can't remember the counter-charm."

Stephanie Fawcett rolled her eyes but appeared to buy the feeble excuse. "I can't believe he was made a prefect," she said as she examined the crest, "acting the way he does."

"Well, he _is_ smart!" Draco defended himself unconsciously before realizing his mistake. "Intelligence is everything to us Ravenclaws, right?" 

Stephanie Fawcett didn't say anything to that, but nodded a little uncertainly. "We have the prefects' meeting in a few minutes. We should go." Stephanie Fawcett began to walk ahead, clutching a scroll and a non-descript inkbottle possessively.

Did all Ravenclaws feel the need to take notes at the meetings? Draco hadn't noticed before, but fingered his- rather Cho's- _please let her stay ill!-_ leather-covered book.

Draco frowned at the other girl. "Speaking of which," he tried to mimic Cho's soft soprano, "do you think we could go back to the dorms?" He nodded to the Slytherin crest. "To get a change of robes, that is. I think Bro- _Mandy_ Brocklehurst is about my size."

The Ravenclaw prefect looked at Draco as though he was insane, raising her dark eyebrows. "Not quite," she said in a clipped voice. "Try someone ten inches shorter."

__

Right.

Cho is short and Mandy is about _Draco's_ height.

Draco felt it would be appropriate to give an airy, silly female laugh, like his mother might. "Sorry." He flitted his hand emphatically. "I'm a little tired from being so sick and all…"

Stephanie Fawcett gave a half-hearted smile and pulled out her wand. "I happen to be studying advanced textile transfiguration in my spare time-" _Did these Ravenclaws honestly have no lives whatsoever? Even Gryffindorks were more interesting! _"Insignia Corve Ungue Manifestens!"

The little silver serpent slithered into oblivion as a bronze and blue eagle soared onto the crest, fluttering its wings restlessly before slowly stiffening into place.

N_ot bad_, he thought, _for an extra curricular pursuit._

"C'mon." Stephanie Fawcett grabbed Draco's arm lightly and jogged off, Draco falling instep behind her. "We're going to be late now."

They weren't the last of the prefects to arrive at the meeting. Draco was not, however, able to sneak off with Harry when they got there. Fawcett seemed to be watching him like a hawk. As Draco was taking Cho Chang's seat at the head of the long table in the conference area of the prefects' headquarters alongside Bert Macmillan of Hufflepuff (and feverishly praying the real Chang was sick abed), Blaise sauntered in lazily to the remaining seat on the left of Harry Potter.

As all of the twenty-four prefects were settling down, the Ravenclaws all diligently arranging their quills and scrolls to take notes, Draco caught Harry's eye.

Harry looked…relieved to see him- Cho, he reminded himself with a mental kick- there. Draco was slightly miffed that Harry didn't appear the slightest bit worried that Draco Malfoy wasn't present, but they still had some things to iron out yet. Draco batted his eyelashes and smiled coyly, hopefully something Harry found seductive.

He sent a prayer to every god he could think of to make the meeting fast- evidently Harry found him rather appealing because the Gryffindor turned a shade of pink and quickly seemed distracted by Granger's afternoon plans with the Weasel.

The meeting itself was rather uneventful with the simple tasks of voting on whether or not to ban several (unnamed) ghosts from the Hufflepuff lavatories. Apparently a certain phantasm had twice been accused of spying on fifth year Hufflepuff boys in the shower. They also debated what colours to decorate the Great Hall at the upper years' Valentine's Ball. Granger and the Weasley girl, in addition both seventh year Gryffindor prefects wanted red and gold, but Blaise, along with the Slytherins (sans Draco Malfoy) protested vehemently for red and silver instead.

"What about red and white?" Harry suggested tentatively, barely heard over the fervent arguments of the loud-mouthed long-molared Granger and the Slytherins.

Draco flashed Harry a grin. Maybe there was hope after all. "I second that suggestion." He dared a wink in Harry's direction and the boy smiled back, running his hands over that silly necklace again.

That motion was passed and that Creepy kid in fifth year was put in charge of the decorations (supposedly he had an eye for artsy-type things) along with Blaise, who stated quite clearly that she didn't want the Gryffindors "…to ruin such a romantic evening with their poor choice in taste".

Towards the end of the meeting, which was running over an hour long, Draco was frequently checking his watch under the table and trying not to draw attention to himself. He didn't have time for this to be carrying on like it was!

Twenty-five minutes left…then twenty…

He was to the point of gritting his teeth- when would it end?! 

__

Stupid Granger and the Gryffindorks, always needing to argue with the Slytherins. It was their fault for wasting such valuable time!

Finally, with only about ten minutes left of the Polyjuice potion, Macmillan adjourned the meeting and Draco strode- no, nearly ran over to Harry Potter briskly.

His hands were shaking and his left eye twitching, but Draco figured Harry wouldn't notice, being four-eyed and all. He tapped the boy on the arm and Potter turned to face Draco, a smile forming on his lips and a blush starting to stain his cheeks.

Draco had to resist the urge to touch those gloriously flushed cheeks. He didn't know if Chang, and Harry for that matter, were into public displays of affection.

"Could I speak to you for a moment, Harry?" Draco nodded to the door, careful not to lick his lips, and fluttered his eyelashes thoughtfully.

Which was clearly the wrong thing to do as the Boy Who Lived narrowed his brilliant emerald eyes suspiciously. "All right," he said after a pause. "Somewhere a bit more private?"

"Please."

Harry lead the two of them back into the halls of the castle and down a nearby, but luckily deserted, wing filled with Mannerist landscapes. The prefects could be heard milling out of the meeting room, but not seen.

It would have to do.

Harry stared at him carefully, studying Draco in Cho Chang's form, who tried to remain composed and cool despite the ticking time. Draco nervously curled a strand of hair around his index finger and chewed on the other absently, willing Harry to be quick.

Draco bit his bottom lip lightly, trying not to check his watch again. "Aren't you glad to see me? I was going to ask for a good morning snog, long and thorough preferably-"

"I thought you were feeling sick." Harry stated this earnestly; it wasn't a question. Draco felt a pang of something- maybe guilt, but he didn't like to think of that. 

"Oh, just…" Draco stopped twirling his hair and waved his hand around in the air, "…monthly cramps."

Pansy used that excuse for everything. She swore any guy would back off immediately if it was brought up.

Draco had to chance it; he didn't have the time for chitchat.

"For two weeks?"

Any guy but Harry Potter, evidently.

Draco tried to giggle shyly, but it came out as more of a snort. Fuck! I don't have the time. "You know, us women." He chewed on his thumb, risking a casual glance to his watch…

Five minutes.

He stiffened involuntarily.

Harry was still watching him, almost like he was one of the magical beasts the oaf had them take care of in class. The Gryffindor looked both concerned and leery; he furrowed his brows. "Er, not…really…" he said.

Draco was glad to hear of this. He couldn't help but smirk at this admonition. "Fancy boys, then?"

He didn't know where it came from, but he needed to get there. And get there now! Draco figured that Harry, at this point, would either a) blush furiously and stammer out some incoherent answer or b) deny Draco's accusation passionately.

Harry Potter instead gawked at him. 

His mouth was wide like a fish and those jade eyes formed huge unreadable orbs beneath his thick lenses.

This was not the reaction Draco was expecting. He shifted uncomfortably in the pantyhose. They were beginning to itch again. 

Would Cho have said something so bold? _Well, no…but…_

His stomach knotted itself painfully.

Finally Harry must have found his voice. "What- Cho, what just happened to your eyes?"

Draco breathed an inward sigh of relief. Good. Harry hadn't seemed to notice anything bizarre with Cho's personality today.

He blinked when the question was processed internally. "Sorry?" he…_squeaked_.

Not good.

__

So not good.

Harry continued to gape and backed up a step. He took his glasses off, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt and put them on again. He squinted, with a look of confusion still apparent. "Your eyes, they…they just changed colour. First they were brown, but now they're…" Harry moved in closer and Draco froze in fear. "-grey?" he spat in disgust.

Oh, _shit_!

Draco felt the snakes beginning to coil in his lower stomach and writhe in near-agony. He could feel the ends of each individual strand of hair shortening and slide up his back, over his chin and shoulders and ears and his face was tingling.

The last thing Draco saw before he tore off for the safety of the Slytherin dungeons was Harry's face contorting in absolute loathing, his mouth forming a distinctive name silently.

__

Malfoy.

He had barely made it down two flights of stairs, bumping into some prefect along the way- who gave a sharp "Hey! Watch it."- when Draco felt something breezy forming in the leg of the pantyhose he was wearing. His legs must have been stretching the material a bit too far in not-so-feminine places because there was a long tear running down his leg.

"Oh, bollocks," he mumbled, eyes misting over. Draco refused to cry (again) over Harry- no, Potter. 

But Draco was miserable the remainder of the day and through into the evening when he had wandered out onto the school grounds overlooking the lake. It was very dark out, even though it was at least an hour until curfew. The snow had yet to fall that season and Draco could hear occasional plinks and splashes from the squid doing whatever it seemed to like doing in the water.

Draco sat down on a cold, granite bench which hovered perilously close to the precipice over the lake. The water was glassy, as there was no breeze, and slate-like.

He didn't bother with a cloak. He wanted to feel the chill of the early December air- well, it would be December in a week's time. He wanted to be cold, like his heart was supposedly (to Potter, anyway).

Feeling the cold at least gave him something to feel other than his own failure with Harry Potter.

His plan to seduce Harry Potter in Cho Chang's body had failed horribly. And it was his own fault! He had to try the Polyjuice out as soon as he could and he chose the most stupid day and time- the prefects' meeting.

Draco began to think that some of his father's insinuations that he wasn't the brightest person were true after all.

But to add to that, Potter knew it was him and the knowledge of what the Gryffindor could do with that was horrifying. _He's probably going to tell the Weasel and Mudblood what a pathetic shirtlifter I am…_

Draco's reputation seemed like it should have been the least of his worries.

He was angry with himself, especially because Malfoys never fail and he had. Draco wasn't worthy of being called a Malfoy after his plan went abysmally awry, and because this plan involved his _wanting_ Potter.

But it wasn't about whether other Malfoy men had had lovers of the same sex that was the issue at stake- because Draco knew they had; he'd read about several during the nineteenth century family annals. Poets, no less, but still Malfoys.

The problem was the person. Harry Potter was the enemy of Voldemort and, as Draco's father, if not Draco himself (he had been really reconsidering lately), was allied with the Dark Lord, that made him an enemy of the Malfoy family.

And family was the thing that counted most.

Plus, Draco was supposed to be Potter's _archrival_. Archrivals couldn't exactly be together at the same time…

He was still wearing the ridiculous transfigured cloak (thin) and Ravenclaw-coloured jumper, but that was irrelevant. Draco stayed sitting on the stone bench for a long while, until his bum was numb and he heard his teeth chattering loudly and his cheeks prickles with the first signs of frostbite. 

__

Good. That made him feel a little better.

A rustling of taffeta robes and a soft, but distinct clearing of a throat came up behind him. Draco didn't turn around. He didn't have the heart to care why or who it was.

A hand rested on his shoulder, warm against his frigid skin. "You forgot your cloak, love," Blaise said softly, no hint of scorn in her voice, only concern.

Draco didn't answer her. He had purposely not brought it and he didn't want to be around anyone. He wanted to be left alone. The ghost of a tear began to well up in his eyes and it slid down his cheeks in a ribbon of wet heat.

Blaise didn't press on, or even move for that matter. After several long minutes of frozen silence, she explained, "I don't feel it would be in my place to ask, Draco." She sighed and stroked his hair lightly, which was comforting, but Draco wouldn't have admitted that. He continued to stare out (albeit blearily) over the lake away from her.

She must have sensed that he may have been crying- Draco wasn't sure he was himself. He tried to ignore it and not think at all. He could almost feel her shake her head. "I didn't think that there was anyone who could resist the Malfoy charm."

__

Charm? Yeah, polyjuicing myself into Potter's crush and wanting a good snog from someone who will always hate me.

Draco snorted. "_He_ did," he said quietly, after a moment. It wasn't as if he had anything left to lose by admitting it.

Blaise seemed unfazed. She didn't comment or sneer or even frown.

In fact, she put her arm around Draco's shoulder and led him back to the castle, all without looking Draco face on. He was grateful for this despite everything. After a heavy silence she said one last thing:

"He's not worth it, Draco. If he doesn't like you, he doesn't like you and nothing you do will change that. You'll only end up hurting…" she stopped, "…yourself."

She didn't see the final, fat tear slide down Draco's nose either.

Which Draco vowed to himself would be the last.


	9. Mischievous Heart

**Title**: The Subtle Knife (09/23)

**Author name**: Ociwen

**Author email**: ociwen@hotmail.com

**Keywords**: Draco Harry Dagger H/D Slash

**Rating**: R

**Spoilers**: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA

**Summary**: When Draco is given a mysterious dagger by his father in his sixth year, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat?

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW. **Heavy adult themes apply to this chapter. If you cannot handle it, please don't bother to flame me about it.

The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

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**Chapter 9: Mischievous Heart**

As he was stuck staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, Draco decided on the final Friday of lessons that he would make the best he could out of his suffering.

He had managed to avoid Harry Potter for nearly the past month and focused himself on drilling Quidditch practices four times a week in preparation for the upcoming January game against Gryffindor. There was no way he was going to have Potter win this time. Not after he had been humiliated more then once on such a personal level this year.

The rest of his time was spent on schoolwork. Several of the professors- Snape and McGonagall in particular- were in nasty, non-holiday spirits and gave them more work than ever before. Normally, Draco would have complained along with his friends about it, but he relished the distraction the assignments provided for once.

Before heading down to the awaiting carriages Pansy stopped in the Slytherin common room. There, Draco was reading his Arithmancy textbook halfheartedly and munching on one of the mince-tarts Goyle had stolen from the castle kitchens earlier that past week.

"Draco?" Pansy said with trepidation as she put down her shoulder-bag. She sat down on the couch across from where Draco was sitting and carefully smoothed out her dark skirt. She hadn't bothered to use a shortening charm in some time. "I know that we haven't been on the…greatest…of terms lately-"

Draco finally glanced up from his text, slightly annoyed with her presence. He was at a particularly interesting segment on how heart numbers correlated between soulmates. "_That_ is an understatement." A sharp twitch of something reminded him exactly whose fault it was that their relationship was on the precarious grounds that it now seemed to be.

Potter, of course. If it hadn't been for Potter…

Pansy was playing with a large gold hoop earring of hers that dangled nearly to her neck. "Anyway…" She smiled coyly and batted her eyelashes a couple times.

Oh, God, not again! 

Although she did give a good blow job that Draco reckoned he might one day miss.

"I wanted to give you this." Pansy reached inside her lavender leather bag (embroidered with indigo and yellow pansies) and pulled out a small box wrapped in green paper that was tied neatly with a glittering silver bow.

Draco eyed her as she proffered the present to him. He snatched it after a moment with a sneer on his face. 

Pansy sighed. "I know you didn't get me anything-"

Draco glared at her. What did she want from him? "You're not joking." He tapped his finger impatiently on the spine of his tome.

Pansy glared back for a moment before her features softened and she smiled..._seductively_? Her lips curled up slightly. "Well then, Merry Christmas, Draco. I hope the solitude suits you."

He ignored her comment and returned to his textbook with a mumbled "whatever".

As Draco just sat there lethargically, Pansy got up and began to drag her trunk towards the door herself. She obviously didn't think to use a lifting charm. "I'll warn you now, Draco, don't try my gift out alone. Don't. Please wait until I get back." She laughed quietly to herself and Draco heard the giggles as the stone door shifted itself back into the wall.

"Stupid bitch," he added to himself.

As Draco was the sole Upper-Year Slytherin remaining for the holidays- there were a number of second years- he had much of the common room and the lavatories and the dorms to himself- not that he necessarily needed all of them. It was nice, if lonely, to be on his own over the holidays. It reminded him of when he was younger, only his mother would have been hovering around and smothering him constantly so it wasn't quite the same.

Blaise was staying over the holidays too. But she didn't count. Apparently her parents were having some sort of twenty-year wedding anniversary and spending it in Acapulco without her. She was rarely around the dungeons or library or anywhere, though. Draco considered himself alone.

It was eerily quiet down in the upper years' section of the dorms. They were far enough away from the second years' that Draco couldn't hear them at all, even without a silencing charm that he often had to cast when he was studying for tests. He allowed himself to lie in until nearly noon every morning before he sauntered up into the Great Hall (albeit alone) for lunch.

At meals, however, he could feel the perpetual glares from the Gryffindork table and the Dream Team (who stuck together for everything) and the loud whispers (directed at him) of "Oh, _poor_ Malfoy; he's all alone. I guess his parents don't want him around now that You Know Who is back," followed by their obnoxious laughter, especially on the Weasel's part.

Draco found that it worked best to ignore the taunts and began to bring library books on ritual daggers of eighteenth century Yorkshire origin or on Sir Henry Hampstead Meelayna to the meals he bothered to show up for. He was pleased to learn that the dagger in question likely had a remarkable binding strength between star-crossed lovers and that the sapphires were used to increase potency. Draco still hadn't determined whether it was fertility-related or magically-related.

So it seemed that his father had indeed given him a rather useless gift, which now resided under his bed to gather dust.

Draco also realized that he had never properly thanked his father for the gift so on the first Monday of the holidays he went up to the Great Hall (past noon) in hopes of having his eagle owl already waiting impatiently at the Slytherin table with some Christmas treats from home. This would give him the opportunity to send his thank you note as well as his parents' presents: new earrings for his mother (she had sent him a cut-out of them from her favourite catalogue, Ross-Simons) and a new black tie for his father that his mother had suggested several months previously.

Medusa was waiting there for him when Draco arrived, hungry and with his quill and parchment in hand. She bit him hard on the finger for being late as he sat down on the bench, which had a bum-warming spell in place for winter.

The Slytherins never told the Gryffindors, or any other house, that Professor Snape always cast it for them. It was an in-house secret.

"Bloody bird!" he hissed as he sucked on the bleeding beak-mark on his index finger.

Draco swore he heard laughter from the Gryffindor region. He narrowed his eyes and turned with his back to them.

_Dear Father_, he began to write, thinking of how exactly to word his letter.

_Happy Christmas!_ seemed like a good start, even if he was still angry with his father for what he had done in Switzerland recently. He couldn't let his emotions show so Draco neatly spelled out the greeting in festive green ink that blinked gold and silver.

_I wanted to thank you for the relatively useless gift you gave me in September. Please forgive my tardiness to do so as I never got the chance prior to this._

Draco smirked to himself, imagining his father's scowl when he read it. _Good._

_The dagger is, as I am certain you know, of late eighteenth century __Yorkshire__ origin and used for binding rituals, especially between star-crossed or unwilling lovers. So unless you had planned that I was to fall in love with a star-crossed lover, the gift was usle-_

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

Oh joy. The Dream Team.

Potter, Weasley and the Mudblood had taken the trouble to walk over to the Slytherin table just to bother him. Draco felt almost..._special_...

"Here to wish me a Happy Christmas?" he drawled, making a conscious attempt to avoid H- Potter's eye.

Weasley must have noticed that he was writing a letter. "Applying for early admission as a Death Eater? Friendly letter to a dark lord?" He leered, red hair and hideous freckles perking up.

Draco felt the colour drain from his face at the quip, but he managed a scowl. "I'm writing a letter to my _father_," he stated in a clipped and aggravated manner. ****

"Right." Granger's mud-brown eyes narrowed.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy." Weasley glared and Granger had to grab his elbow to lead the pair off before the stupid sod tried to do something harmful to himself.

Leaving Harry Potter a few feet behind, _beside Draco_.

Potter looked at Draco expressionlessly, his eyes blank and haunting- it reminded Draco of when he glanced at Potter after the Triwizard Tournament and he swallowed nervously.

Potter had the tiniest hint of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth. "Speaking of your father," he leaned in closely to Draco and Draco felt his blood begin to pound and his breath hitch in nervous anticipation, even though Potter seemed so threatening and..._dangerous_...His eyes were an eerie emerald. "What would your father say, Draco? You, lusting after the Boy Who Lived? His only son and heir turning into the biggest. Poof. In. Hogwarts?" In a subdued and menacing voice.

Potter leaned back away from Draco to survey the damage. The malachite necklace was lacklustre.

Draco felt his fist clench along with his heart. That _bastard_ was Dumbledore's Golden Boy? "Shut your gob!" he snarled, no tears beginning to form, only utter and complete loathing. "You don't know him at all!"

Potter just laughed softly, obviously not wanting to draw attention, and walked away, leaving Draco to stew in his ire.

_Fuck you, Potter!_ He wanted to shout, but something held him back, most likely Dumbledore, who had just come into the Great hall in frilled scarlet robes that made him look like a walking poinsettia. The Headmaster smiled gaily at the Trio, who smiled back innocently before resuming their glares at Draco.

"I don't need this." And Draco, for the first time in his history at Hogwarts, stomped loudly from the Great Hall, making sure to bang the massive door behind him with a deafening slam that echoed even into the dungeons.

Professor Snape wouldn't appreciate that, but Draco would have to deal with him later.

Draco brooded the remainder of the day in the Slytherin common room, jabbing harshly with a wrought-iron poker at the emerald and ruby flames burning in the fireplace. He was hoping Potter could feel the stabs. Take that! A white-hot log split in three and crackled loudly. And that, you ruddy imbecile! Sparks flew up and landed in his hair, ashes amongst the silver, but Draco didn't care about his beloved hair for once. 

In his dorm, sitting on his bed, hands wringing the forest-green velvet curtains into a tight wad, the silver dagger half-peering out from under his bed caught his eye.

_Don't keep it for yourself. Give it to someone..._

Draco glared at it. _Potter gets a present from you that's not poisonous or fatal? Am I not worthy enough to be the messenger of something important, Father?_

"Stupid bastard." He looked at the forest-green coverlet he sat on. It was green...like...

"Sodding Gryffindor."

Why did everything always go back to _him_?

Draco scowled darkly and glared harder, longer. He was mad. Seething at yet another rejection. He wanted real revenge this time.

_I always win, Potter. You shoot me down; I'll get you back worse._

Later that evening, with the sun set and the castle covered in heavy midnight shadows, Draco crept up to the Gryffindor area of Hogwarts, wary of the fat bitch in the portrait who was known for ratting out intruders or generally suspicious-looking individuals.

He pulled out his wand, smiling viciously. "Serpensortiae Apertus!"

That would teach him to mess with a _Slytherin_.

* * * * *

Draco actually bothered to wake up early the following morning. He almost ran up to the Great Hall; thankfully no one else was around to see this as Malfoys are never in a hurry to go anywhere. Plus, it would have seemed suspicious. 

He waited patiently for the house elves to arrive with breakfast, followed by a perplexed Professor Snape (more so when he noticed Draco smiling winningly) and lastly the other students and professors.

Draco saw the triumvirate of Gryffindorks waltz in, led by none other than Harry Potter, and his trail of admiring fans in suit. They didn't walk to the Gryffindor table that morning but passed it curtly and continued on to the Slytherin side of the Great Hall.

A group of half a dozen bristled Gryfffindolts stopped in front of him, arms folded and scowling. Some even had the audacity to mumble insults about his mother and father.

Draco finished chewing on his piece of toast before looking up languidly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you now, Potter?" he drawled, knowing full well why the mob was glaring.

"We know it was you, arsehole!" Weasley, red all over, stepped up.

The Mudblood scowled. "Ron," she warned and the Weasel closed his mouth obediently, but gave Draco a middle finger. "None of us appreciated your little joke, Malfoy. Two of the first years won't even leave their dorms they were so petrified."

"Of what?" Draco asked them innocently, his face a blank slate.

"The snakes!" Potter added, finally doing something beyond looking angry and having really messy morning hair.

Draco allowed his jaw to drop dramatically. "And you blame me for this?" He shook his head. 

"Cut the rubbish, Malfoy." Potter said quietly. "Next time we'll go straight to McGonagall."

"Ever the law-abider- Perfect Potter!" Draco sneered, dropping his aloof facade. "So far above the rest of us that you can sneak around but everyone else can't? Besides, I'm sure you said something to them in Parseltongue and they scampered-"

"Fuck. You." Potter said in a terrifyingly low and calm voice. "Leave me alone. I'm sick of you, Malfoy."

"And so are the rest of us!" Weasley stomped off in a huff along with the other Gryffindors.

Draco went back to his toast.

Blaise sidled up next to Draco with a plate of eggs in her hands. "What was that about?" Her eyes followed the other students to the Gryffindor table.

"Don't know," Draco lied solemnly.

Blaise made a noise of agreement.

_Don't you get it, Potter? The Polyjuice potion? The snake? I'm practically throwing myself at you! What am I doing wrong? What more do you want?_

Draco sighed. This obsession was hopeless. He wanted to move on, get over this Potter-thing, but he felt compelled, as though he had to continue through to the _very end_.

* * * * *

Draco betrayed his own Malfoy heritage that week.

He gave up. On Potter.

It was fruitless as it was. Mealtimes were the only time Draco ever saw Harry Potter anymore. He tried to play it down and just smirk sexily in Potter's direction, but either the Gryffindor would turn his back and ignore the advances.

Draco did wander on Potter and his Gryffindorks on the afternoon before Christmas Eve. He had been outside by the lake, having a quick ride on his Nimbus 2001, but the weather had cooled sharply and Draco, being too suave and sexy for his gloves didn't wear them. Plus he supposed he must have lost his favourite ones somewhere; he couldn't find them. And he had begun to feel the unwelcome sensation of frostbite prickle his fingers. So he trudged back up to the castle crunching through the knee-deep snow.

He rubbed his hands together and pulled his thick wool cloak sleeves over his hands. His broom was slung over his shoulder.

_Thwap!_

Something icy and hard hit him in the side of the head and he felt tiny frozen crystals slide down his cloak, melting into chilly water under his collar, itching as they slid down further.

He whipped his head around, a second snowball narrowly missing his arm.

"Damn! Missed the slimy bugger."

_Weasley._

Draco looked around to see from where the snowballs were originating. He saw a make-shift wall of snow barely concealing at least one red-haired individual and one with black hair poking out from under a scarlet hat. ****

Another snowball pelted his body, this time on his other side at his ribs. The ball was softer and broke into sticky clumps that stuck to his cloak.

There was a second mound of snow, with several heads behind it, including a bushy brown one, sniggering.

He was standing in the middle of a Gryffindor snowball warzone.

_Fuck._

"Plebeians!" he yelled and stomped off faster in the snow, which only made him lose his balance and trip. Draco landed face-first in the icy powder. He could hear the Gryffindorks laughing loudly behind him. At him.

"Fuck." He got up and wiped the snow from his face, which stung from the cold and his hands hurt more from the melting snow and frostbite combined.

"Nice fall, Malfoy! Really dignified," Potter shouted, laughing with the Weasel. "I'm sure Voldemort will be thrilled to have you join his ranks!"

That did it.

Draco's features darkened and his mouth tightened into a thin, determined line. He bent down in the snow and balled up a wad in his sore and numb hands and hurled it in Potter's direction. It should have been an easy hit, considering Potter was just standing there.

But he missed.

Badly.

_Really swift, Draco._

"You throw like a girl, Malfoy!" Potter's voice grew distant as Draco shuffled back to the school even faster than before, ashamed of his pathetic aim and throw and the general fact that Potter had implied that he was going to team up with Voldemort.

But the inner voice of his father was sneering at him. _Well, what have you got to lose now if you join His ranks?_

Potter.

_But he never wanted you in the first place..._

* * * * *

Christmas.

And he was alone.

Draco had never spent the holidays on his own. He had always spent it with at least his parents, or in his second and fourth years at Hogwarts, with his friends.

But they had all gone home now and in his blindness, he had thought that he would have had someone special to spend it with.

Yes, he did spend Christmas morning in the company of other persons. Snape had arranged for the remaining Slytherins to eat Christmas brunch in their common room. Draco had sat in silence that morning, picking at his sugared pineapple and Christmas loaf as the second years giggled and hissed over their new presents, showing them off to each other. Snape had a conversation with the Bloody Baron over the uselessness of ground Kneazle dander in restorative elixirs. Blaise was likely flitting in and out of the Ancient Runes professor's private rooms.

He was alone.

Sure, his parents sent plenty of Christmas gifts. His mother had given him several new robes and his father had given him a number of old (and expensive) volumes on the Dark Arts, but no Polonius' All-Poison Potion to his expected dismay. He did receive gorgeous dragonhide lace-up boots from his Great Aunt Eunice- his father would have burst a artery if he knew that Draco's eccentric old aunt had finally sent him a pair! Crabbe had sent two cases of Fizzing Whizzbees and Goyle gave him a keg of pricey moonshine. There was the large package of Christmas sweets and Chocolate frogs sent from home. And there was also Pansy's small gift left unopened on his dresser.

It was late afternoon by the point Draco realized he had left his last gift unopened. He had been staring intently at his dagger for the last hour, trying to psychically work out the exact powers it held, but the dagger only lay there, dull and unexciting. He set it on top his dresser and grabbed Pansy's gift.

He frowned at it. _It had better not be some ploy to get me back into bed._

Draco ripped off the glistening little bow and smooth paper to reveal a black velvet box.

_Oh, just what I need- jewellery!_

Draco sneered and lifted the lid, only to reveal a small cobalt vial, about the size of his thumb. He held it up to the fading light from a grate in the wall. There was a yellow label that read "_Lascivus Cor_".

_Stupid Pansy!_ He knew enough Latin to get by, but not much. _Lascivus_- mischief? Sportive? Something like that?

_Cor_- well that was obvious. Heart.

So, Pansy had given him a Mischievous Heart potion. Interesting. At least it wasn't anything to do with sex or love. She must have grown a bit of a brain since last he dealt with her.

As he was feeling rather alone and miserable and still wallowing in self-pity, Draco figured that trying the potion couldn't hurt. He unscrewed the cap, breaking the waxy seal, and swallowed half of it.

It was sweet and syrupy, yet tangy and..._minty_ at the same time? It scorched his tongue pleasantly.

_I'll warn you now, Draco. Don't try my present out alone. Don't. _Please_ wait until I get back._

He laughed to himself. Pansy had no idea what she was talking about. It was a Mischievous Heart potion. The most he was going to do would be to make some holiday mischief.

The potion was warming up his throat and stomach as it oozed through his body. He felt a little light-headed.

Draco sank back onto the pillows on his bed and swallowed the remaining potion until not even a drop was left. The feeling from some was good. But more would be better.

He looked at the bottle and laughed in spite of it. "Nothing's happening, you stupid bitch!" And he tossed the vial over to a far corner of his room, where it hit the flagstone floor with a faint clang and rolled behind something.

His stomach was heating up increasingly faster and the heat flowed all over his body through his veins. Draco exhaled loudly in slight discomfort, but the potion had no real effect beyond that.

_I don't even really feel like making mischief yet. Maybe it needs a few more minutes to kick in._

Draco's eyes drifted back over to his dagger and he fingered the delicate silver knotwork. A scorching heat had erupted in his crotch and he twitched uncomfortably, wiggling around on his bum before finally giving up and pacing the floor.

He had the urge to go and find someone else, anyone else then. For helping with mischief? He couldn't seem to quite explain why he did. He just needed to.

However, Draco decided that the hardness that had just developed in his crotch might prove slightly embarrassing so he sat back down on his bed, forcing himself to think of anyone except Potter.

Maybe the new and sudden images of Potter flashing in his mind would go away. 

Pansy. 

Pansy. 

_Pansy._

He did not want to have to toss himself off just then. He wanted to mope in peace and maybe make mischief. Get into something.

Trousers?

_No!_

This was becoming increasingly impossible as he felt himself grow increasingly harder, painfully so. He curled up in a ball and whimpered, cupping himself and wincing.

And thinking of Harry Potter went along _in hand_.

Potter's face wafted in front of him, flushed and bright.

Draco groaned as he slipped a willing hand along the inside of his trousers.

Potter's perfect chest stood out, waiting to be touched.

But instead Draco choked as he stroked himself through the fabric of his clothes.

He saw Potter's bum, Potter's hands, Potter's hair.

And he just got harder. And harder. And harder.

This. Was. Useless.

Pansy. 

Pansy!

_Pansy!_

Harder.

Snape. Flitwick. _McGonagall!_

_Harder._

Draco moaned aloud in agony. He was so hard. He was at the point where he wanted to fuck someone. Anyone. Anything with an orifice. Simply humping the bed wouldn't do! His breathing was heavy and laboured and he knew his eyes were glassy. His eyes lingered over to the dagger and he swore it glowed like a moonstone.

Okay. Maybe if he went down into the common room, the feelings and desires would pass. Or alternatively, Blaise might be there and he could convince her that his balls were about to burst and she would sleep with him out of pity.

He could feel himself shaking as he wandered into the common room, careful to ensure that his new black velvet robes hid his raging erection and feverish skin.

But there was no one in the common room to distract him. The second years had left for dinner and the Bloody Baron was nowhere in sight.

Nor was Blaise.

Fuck!

The fire cackled festively.

Draco positioned himself on one of the leather couches, stretching out along its cool length. It felt good on his burning skin (despite the fact he had a robe on) and his crotch tightened further.

And Potter's eyes blazed jade green.

He felt himself at a flashover point where he would just open his robes and his trousers and wank himself off again and again until he was sated.

Which would take a long, long while if he tried.

No. No! He wouldn't lose control. He wouldn't give in. It'll pass. It'll pass.

Malfoys. Control. Control!

There was a knock on the stone entrance.

Draco blinked. A distraction!

Draco hoisted himself up off the couch carefully and said the password, "Gaudeamus"; the bricks in the door shifted and rearranged and opened.

Potter was standing there.

Potter.

_No._

Draco felt his heart surge and his cock stiffen even more. _It's an illusion_, he intoned. _Maybe I did drink too much of the Mischievous Heart potion and it's making me delirious. He's not real. He-_

"Erm...can I...come in?" Potter fidgeted with his gaudy goldenrod-coloured jumper that had a big green H in the middle.

Of his chest.

Draco blinked slowly. He didn't say anything, didn't do anything but stare. What could he do? All of the blood was pooled in his loins, not his head.

Potter decided to take silence for an answer and stepped into the Slytherin common room, clutching a lumpy red package. He swallowed. "I wanted to...sorry. About the other day." He stared intently at the floor, swaying slightly to his left.

Draco fought hard to keep his breathing under control, but it was failing.

Potter smiled softly. "I wanted to give you this." He held out the package. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy," he said and spun around on his heels quickly, as though to leave.

Draco's gaze hardened. He grabbed Potter's arm. "Wait," he growled.

"Sorry?" Potter seemed confused and he tried vainly to pull away from Draco's vice. He looked at Draco with wide, myopic eyes. "What-"

Potter's necklace was glowing the same colour.

Draco gave in.

He forced his lips against Potter's which were soft, but yielding. Draco grabbed Potter's shoulders and pulled him closer, though the other boy squirmed and fought, beating his fists on Draco's chest. Draco ran his tongue roughly along Potter's lower lip and he felt Potter shake uncomfortably at this.

Draco forced Potter closer to his own burning body, desperate for close contact, snaking his arms possessively around Potter's back and arching his hips into the Gryffindor's own. He wanted Potter to feel how hard he was making Draco. He wanted Potter to know just how badly, how much Draco wanted him.

He wanted Potter to know just how insane with lust for him Draco had become.

As Draco's tongue assaulted Potter's mouth, Potter bit down painfully. Draco yelped and pulled back sharply, breaking the kiss, but remained latched to his body.

"What the fuck was that?" His voice was hoarse and unfamiliar to himself. He felt a furious rage build up inside at Potter for breaking contact with his mouth.

Potter's mouth hung open, his lips swelling and bruising. There was a little blood clinging to his teeth. "What are you trying to do, Malfoy?" He struggled again against Draco's manhandling.

To no avail.

Draco gripped the other boy's hips harder, making sure his fingers were making painful dents in Potter's slim hipbones.

Potter whined in pain. "Stop." He fumbled feebly for his wand.

Draco noticed this and snarled animalistically, shoving his hand down Potter's pocket, ripping the seam and hurled the wand across the room. "You don't need that." He dug his hips deeper into Potter's, who hissed and turned red with embarrassment.

Whose, Draco had no clue. Nor did he care.

Potter didn't respond. His body was tense and immobile and Draco was frustrated with a confusion of lust and loss of control.

Fuck it all.

He grabbed Potter by the arse and dragged him down the corridor towards his dorm room. Potter dug his feet into the flagstone floor futilely to stop it, but his trainers slipped and slid along the polished stone.

Draco forced him through the entrance to his dorm. Potter grabbed at the door and yelled, but Draco tossed the other boy to his bed as though he were an infant. Draco felt in complete control over Potter's body with the potion surging through his body, yet he was powerless against his own desire.

"Claudera!" The door slammed shut and stirred the air in the room.

Draco felt himself stalk towards the bed like a predator. He licked his lips and glared intently at his prey.

Potter was staring back at him, eyes locked in place. His green eyes were blazing with fear and utter confusion. He crabwalked into the headboard, frantically trying to escape.

The knife was gleaming pearlescently in the faded light. Silver and sapphire and amethyst blending with the green of Potter's necklace. Draco sped up and crawled over the bed on all fours until he was over Potter and he wedged his tongue between Potter's unwilling lips again.

"Harry," he hissed and clamped his mouth down on the Gryffindor's, pinning his wrists into the pillows with both hands. He forced Potter's mouth open viciously, needing to taste him.

Harry whimpered pitifully when Draco stroked his own tongue over his. Harry tasted faintly of cranberry sauce and eggnog. Christmas and mint and gloriousness. Draco ran his tongue through every crevice of Harry's mouth, ignorant of Potter's increasingly frequent whine and attempts to clamp his mouth shut.

Draco shoved an eager leg between Harry's knees to spread them apart as his kisses grew deeper and more frantic with the need to satisfy himself. Harry had become more pliable, weakened by the strength of Draco's lust and he had lessened his painful wriggling. Draco furiously yanked the horrid jumper off Harry, who had nearly ceased all struggling. And he ripped Harry's shirt from his chest, satiny buttons exploding off and fabric tearing and twisting.

Draco pushed his leg further between Harry's, brushing his straining erection roughly into Harry's own.

_Harry's own erection_.

Draco kissed him desperately, deepening the kiss more and bruising Harry's lips. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything beyond being inside of Harry Potter in the most intimate way possible.

He trailed his tongue along Harry's soft neck, grazing his Adam's Apple, feeling it bob under his ministrations. Harry's hands had found their way into Draco's hair, where they gripped and bunched it painfully.

Draco hissed at this and bit Harry's nipple maliciously, drowning in the moans and pleas it produced in the other boy. Harry arched up into Draco and the Slytherin bit harder, groaning himself in desire before attacking the other nub.

"You want this," he snarled into Harry's chest as he roughly pulled off his robe and shirt and tossed them aside.

"No," Harry managed weakly as Draco fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers. "Stop."

Draco sneered and shoved Harry's trousers down to his knees along with his boxers in one swift motion.

Harry's hands flew to cover himself, but Draco's mouth reached him first. He heard Harry gargle something as he nipped the flesh below the Gryffindor's hips, slowly working his way down as his hand unbuttoned his own trousers.

Potter whimpered pathetically when Draco pulled off the other boy's trousers fully first, then at last his own, leaving them both naked.

Harry gulped. "I don't want this, Malfoy," he said quietly, but not moving his body. "Please," he begged, his eyes afraid and moist.

Harry seemed about ready to get off the bed when Draco whipped off Harry's glasses and set them down on his dresser. Harry gasped as Draco grabbed him by the hair with both hands and fused their mouths together, not caring. "You will want this."

Oblivious to the cold Christmas air around them, Draco did get to know Harry Potter closer than anyone else in the world, pounding into the other boy who was tight and cried out in pain. Tears streamed down his face the whole while, but he didn't stop Draco with anything save words or the occasional squeal of pain until it was over and Draco made sure they came together.

**Author's Note: **Thank you, as always, to my amazing betas, Berne and Thalia. They are goddesses of the craft.

A big thanks should also go out to my Livejournal friends for putting up with my rants, my wibbling and everything else. Especially to those who helped with owl names and Kokopoko for the catalogue. Your comments mean the world!

And to my reviewers, thank you, thank you- I love getting your reviews! If you want to know when I update, though, check out my Yahoo group or Livejournal.


	10. Mea Culpa

**Title:** The Subtle Knife (10/23)  
  


**Author name:** Ociwen  
  


**Author email:** ociwen@hotmail.com  
  


**Keywords:** Draco Harry Dagger H/D Slash  
  


**Rating:** R  
  


**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA. The Subtle Knife is now AU after GoF as I cannot incorporate all of the most recent additions to Harry Potter canon.  
  


**Summary:** When Draco receives a mysterious dagger from his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat itself? Chapter ten, featuring angst, awkwardness and 'madpassionatesex'. (H/D)  
  


**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.**  
  
The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

This chapter is dedicated to two people:

Adelina, for being wonderful and because I promised I would dedicate this chapter to you. *loffs*

That Bastard™ for being a complete asshole and making the angsty/unhappy parts that much easier for me to write. I know you'll never read this, but I hope you rot in Hell. *smirks*

**Chapter 10: Mea Culpa**

Draco was warm. In a comfortable and cozy place. There might have been drool at the side of his mouth. It was hanging open. And he was with someone else, wherever that happened to be.

He snuggled closer to this other person, who was radiating heat against his own body like a thermos charm.

There was a lot of skin-to-skin contact. That was very nice in itself- Draco usually preferred to sleep alone if given the choice. It wasn't clammy or moist or disgusting at all. He sighed in contentment. It was a very nice dream he was having; pity it wouldn't last…

His backside was cold. The winter air was biting his back and his bum and his thighs and his calves and his toes. It was inevitable that he would have to crawl back under his covers and disrupt everything.

He sighed, drowsily awake, but still on enough of the verge of sleep.

Then there was a frantic shifting under his body. A hand digging into his bicep, blunt claws into his muscle, pushing Draco aside, but not succeeding very well. Draco was heavier than said hand had thought apparently. Legs were starting to thrash wildly with his own that remained still for the moment. It was an uncomfortable battle.

He opened an eye blearily.

Straight into black hair just above a reddened ear.

One of _those _dreams!

Draco grinned and nibbled on the earlobe, ghosting his tongue along its edge. Might as well enjoy the dream while it lasted.

Someone hissed and turned to face Draco, their noses smashing together painfully. 

It was Potter.

He knew it as soon as he saw the eyes. The haunting, horrible _green eyes._

Draco reeled back in confusion. "What-" he croaked, but stopped. The truth of the matter dawned upon him along with full consciousness.

_Potter- _Harry_ in my bed.__ And we- and I…_

He swallowed. His breathing grew shallow. His lungs ceased to function.

_Oh. Dear. God._

_What have I done?_

_It wasn't supposed to happen like that. It was supposed to be loving and beautiful and sweet and maybe romantic- as much as it can be for guys. Not violent and forced and…_wrong_…_

_What have I done?_

Then Draco recalled more fragmented details from the previous evening- the sweet potion and the unsated desire that accompanied it.

"Oh, God,"

Harry was staring at him, emerald eyes wide and hurt. His mouth was closed in a straight line, lips bruised and swollen. There were dried tear tracks down his puffy cheeks, pooling at his chin. He closed his eyes after a moment, black lashes fluttering down like butterflies' wings. 

"Just let me go," he whispered hoarsely and attempted to roll himself out of Draco's bed on his side.

Draco feared exactly how much Harry had screamed and pleaded to cause such the rough grate in his voice.

"No!"

The words slipped from Draco's mouth before he had time to think. _No! No, that's not what I meant to say! "Harry, I-"_

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to hear it, Malfoy," he said slowly. "Please just let me go back to my dorm."

"No, hear me out!" Draco pleaded- _begged_. Harry cringed at his words, shrinking down into someone younger, smaller, more afraid but no longer naïve. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I am _so_ sorry. It w-"

"So am I," Harry said emotionlessly; he strained his head around and squinted, as though to locate his glasses. "I should have known coming here was a bad idea in the first place."

"Listen!" Draco was growing increasingly frustrated and he raised himself up partially on his elbows to get a better look at the Gryffindor. His chest and neck and shoulders were littered with violent crimson marks and raw imprints of jagged fingernails.

_God.___

"I am so, _so_ sorry for this Harry," Harry winced at his own name. "I didn't want this to happen this way-"

"I didn't want this to happen at all!" Harry cried out. "Whatever…whatever _ideas you have in your head about us, Malfoy….there is no _us_!" He was flustered and clawing at Draco to release him, his eyes glistening with nearly shed tears._

Draco felt distraught as well. "I swear I never meant to hurt you."

Harry turned his head and looked at Draco, but said nothing. He didn't even blink. There weren't words to describe the shear loathing and disgust Draco felt Harry was trying to convey. He could feel it himself. Directed at himself.

_ He hates me even more._

Draco didn't know what to say, or do. There was nothing that could make the situation better. Not now. Not ever. He was never going to be anything but a…a…_rapist….to Harry._

"This was your first time, wasn't it?" he mumbled, then wishing fervently to take his words back. He hated himself even more. And yet he had to know; he had to be certain of his actions.

"Yes," Harry stated simply. "Are you happy now?"

Draco exhaled slowly and gently rolled himself off Harry, trying to bypass any obvious bruising. He disentangled their legs, unwilling to look at the other marks he'd undoubtedly left.

Harry was wincing and squeezing his eyes shut as he sat on the edge of the bed. Draco heard him hiss with the effort not to cry out or groan in pain.

"Please stay, Harry." Draco tried to sound gentle and softly touched Harry's left shoulder, willing him to turn around just a bit.

He did. "Why?"

Draco didn't answer him. Not exactly. "Because I-" he faltered. This was so hard. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Because I want you. I still do." He pulled back the covers and sheets and crawled under them himself. He didn't leave any of the sheets around his hips pulled back 'invitingly' for Harry. He sighed miserably; there was nothing more to lose at this point.

"It's Christmas. It _was _Christmas," Harry mumbled enigmatically. The he shifted again, as though to leave. "People will notice I'm not there. Ron and Hermione-"

If he wasn't feeling so wretched, Draco would have smirked. "They'll be too busy with each other, then?" he asked quietly. "It _is the holidays."_

Harry gave a curt nod and stoically slipped under the blankets himself. He didn't touch Draco in the least. Draco could sense that the Gryffindor's skin was icy from where he lay. He told himself that this was why Harry hadn't left yet. Because it was simply too cold in the castle.

"Did I hurt you that much?" Draco asked after a lapse in silence; then passionately, "I swear I'll _kill_ Pansy for-"

Harry scrunched his brows and his eyes narrowed. "What does _Pansy have to do with this?" _

Draco blinked. He looked away darkly, his mouth set firmly. "She gave me this potion for Christmas. A 'Mischievous Heart' potion. Said I wasn't to use it alone."

"Which you did!" Harry said tensely.

Draco's throat lump was back. It was hard to speak. And harder to deal with the situation. "Yes." He swallowed, but the lump didn't leave. He felt his eyes well up with tears. How could he _ever fix what he had done? "It- it must have been a lust potion. I would have _never _forced you if I hadn't been affected by it!"_

"You took the damn thing!"

A sob wracked Draco's body. He opened his mouth to speak, but only let out another hitched sob.

"Your own stupidity gets you into _so _many messes! Why can't you just listen to all the warnings people give you?"

Draco couldn't answer that.

Harry turned closer to face Draco, and the verdant pendant that he wore around his neck bounced along his collarbone slightly. He didn't say anything except stare at Draco, brilliant green eyes clouded over with pain and something else. Something more….old. His eyes looked so ancient and worn. 

Draco wondered if Harry had ever had the chance to be a child.

No, Voldemort had ruined it all.

And Hannah Abbott, for finding that stupid necklace in the dirt that Harry always wore.

And Pansy, for giving him that potion. She had to have known that he would take it alone. She knew him! 

But then Draco didn't even seem to know himself lately. Six months ago he would have never believed himself if he wanted _Harry Potter_.

Draco's hand reached out to finger-comb a chunk of Harry's hair that stuck out by his ear. This other boy. This other poor boy didn't deserve any of this. He looked so melancholy. But all the while strangely lovely in his misery.

Harry stared at him wordlessly, but he didn't stop Draco's ministrations.

"You are beautiful," Draco whispered to himself, not being able to bring his lips to forming Harry's name.

Harry's cheeks flushed, as did his green eyes and necklace, but this time he didn't shudder or move away from Draco's petting. Maybe the Slytherin's touch was soothing. Draco hoped it was. He wanted to be harnessing some sort of untapped magic within himself and spreading his regret to the other boy.

"Why is this happening to us?" Harry asked slowly. "I thought we hated each other."

"We did. You still do."

Harry didn't deny this. 

Nor did he agree. 

"But now…" Harry trailed off, leaving unsaid words.

Draco leaned in closely, his lips almost touching the corner of Harry's mouth. He hoped the pink swelling would dissipate. "I think that's changed," he said in a voice so low it was barely audible.

Harry's lips parted slowly, baring white teeth. His breathing was less natural, more…

_ragged__._

Draco's mouth brushed against Harry's. He wanted the Gryffindor so badly, but he did not- in _any _way- want to hurt him. If Harry pushed him away, he would understand. "Would you mind…?"

Harry let out a breathy, almost-moan. "What?"

"…if I kissed you?"

Harry moaned out like silken ripples in the air; he brought his lips to Draco's, who responded with a small, tentative kiss. Draco wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry.

He wanted to kiss Harry some more.

He did. And deepened the kiss, his hands moving up to cup the Gryffindor's face. Mouths moving together much more intimately. Closer. Harder. Emerald eyes fluttered open. Draco smiled into them.

Could this be the start of his forgiveness?

Harry pulled his mouth back and sighed. "We're…changing…aren't we?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "I suppose so."

Harry didn't say anything more.

"Surely you don't want to hate each other forever?" Draco asked, worried that the other boy could change his mind in less than a moment's notice.

"I suppose so," Harry echoed Draco's words; he smiled a little, but the smile only toyed at the corners of his mouth.

Draco ran a slim finger along the other boy's protruding collarbone. It made him wonder sometimes, the way Harry's bones jutted out so angularly. The way his clothes were always several sizes too large. He met the malachite pendant on the old silver chain. "You still wear this?"

"Yes," Harry answered, sounding slightly puzzled.

Draco had to smirk. He rubbed the chain between his thumb and index finger. The chain was slim and fine and well-worn. A bit like its owner. "Don't you think it's a bit _effeminate_?"

Harry's eyes darkened and his lips tightened. "Don't you think _this is a bit effeminate?" He waved his hands around, gesticulating their situation._

Draco was silent. _Please don't change your mind, Harry. Please._ He tried to plead with his eyes.

"I mean…" Harry's forehead crumpled, "well…I don't know if I'm even okay with 'this' yet. If there even is a 'this'…"

"I want- very much- for there to be," Draco admitted, prying his eyes from Harry and over to the silver dagger atop his dresser.

Harry didn't reply to this. "You never opened your gift," he said instead.

_Oh. _

He sat up, gently pushing himself off the Gryffindor. Harry must have been talking about the package he brought with him when he came to visit and Draco…

_raped__ him._

Draco looked down at the floor guiltily. 

It must still be in the common room.

He slipped on his silver embroidered Slytherin prefect's robe, noticing for the first time the long red finger tracks on his sides. "I'll be back in a minute." He nearly swooned at the sight of his thighs, caked with dry blood and spit and…other stuff. He pulled the robe tighter and left his room quickly.

Harry must have known where Draco was headed because when Draco returned, closing the door once more behind him, Harry was sitting up in Draco's bed. The sheets were modestly bunched around his waist and his arms were folded across his chest, as if to protect himself. Or hide his body. His eyes were large, but his visage unreadable.

Draco raised an eyebrow and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

_Keep it light, Draco._

Harry smiled back. Slightly, tentatively, rubbing his arms from the chill. "Do you Slytherins have no heating whatsoever down here?"

Something like an internal sigh of relief passed through Draco. "Incendio." He raised his hand at his private fireplace and orange flames crackled up out of the logs that were continually replaced by school house-elves. 

"Can you do much wandless magic?" Harry asked, in some awe as his mouth hung open.

Draco smirked. "Hardly. Lighting a fire and a basic summoning spell are about my limits. My father is quite disappointed at that."

Draco bit down on his tongue. _Fuck! _Why, oh _why_ had he mentioned his father? Why did those things slip so easily off his tongue?

Harry's knuckles were gripping the sheets and were white. He didn't move an inch. But maybe his eyes were squinting some. Draco picked up Harry's glasses from the spot on the floor where they lay half-obscured. He handed them to him. Harry snatched them away then relaxed back onto the pillows a little.

Time to change the subject.

"I brought your wand," Draco said as he placed it next to his dagger, which emitted a faint hum. Then he dropped his robe and crawled back into bed next to Harry. It wasn't late enough by far to be out of bed.

"Thank you." Harry turned away as Draco got in, refusing to look at the Slytherin boy's body at all.

Draco pulled the covers up over the both of them. It was simply warmer that way. _But maybe one day he'll want to look at me naked…_

He set Harry's gift down in front of him. Harry glanced over at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Draco blinked. He had assumed that Harry was delivering a gift to someone. Harry had got _him_ a gift? And still wanted him to have it after what he had done?

He nodded numbly and pulled the paper away carefully. It was stuck to the object- which was lumpy and soft- with something similar to Spellotape, only much stickier. It clung to his fingers and curled up around the tips. Draco flicked his hands a few times before the stuff slacked off, falling to join the paper.

Harry snorted. "Only you could get tape stuck to your fingers!"

Draco didn't reply to that.

He pulled out a pair of black mittens, knitted somewhat haphazardly, stitches dropped in places and a little knotted in others. They were lumpy and holey and each one a distinctly different size.

They were the most beautiful pair of mittens he'd ever seen.

He didn't know quite what to make of the gift. "Did you _knit these?"_

Harry nodded and turned pink. "Hermione taught me. Just don't tell anyone I did. You…you didn't have any the other day. Your hands must have been cold."

Draco set down the mittens, taking Harry's hands in his own, which were frigid as the porcelain collection his mother kept at home. "I will make this up to you," he said earnestly. "I promise."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Draco and Harry purposely avoided each other over the course of the next couple of days, not that it was a problem with either. Draco felt his blood run cold whenever Harry walked by. He hated himself. How did his father live with himself if Draco could barely stand it after only _raping someone?_

Draco didn't want to find that out at all.

He had decided that it would minimize the awkwardness, among other things, if he and Harry maintained a relatively 'normal' routine and Harry had agreed- how could he not? The other boy had slipped back quietly into his own dorms later that morning with nothing more said between the two.

Draco had watched him leave with a heavy heart full of mixed emotions. It would be best to return to normalcy, but at the same time- despite everything that he had done- he didn't want to.

He wanted to be with Harry. But he didn't want to scare the Gryffindor with over-eagerness- what an irony that would have been! He didn't want to _ever risk a repeat of the previous night._

The days following the 'occurrence' Draco spent wandering the bleak lakeside, wrapped up in his warmest winter cloak and the mittens Harry had given him. Such a simple gift made him smile; the fact that the other boy had made them for _him_, that he had thought to take the Slytherin into consideration. It made Draco's heart all the more lighter and heavier at the same time.

_You _raped_ him._

Draco would return each evening from an afternoon of brisk winter air into the Great Hall for a steaming supper and warm mulled pumpkin juice. There must have been something in the drink because it not only made Draco (and the other students) a little more lethargic after dinner, but much more mellow. 

This was probably Dumbledore's idea. And Draco might have thanked him for the gesture, if he weren't so proud.

So Draco spent his evenings still alone, in silence, as Blaise was always flitting off somewhere midday to meet someone. He would sit to eat with his back turned to the Gryffindor table. It was easier to ignore them that way. To go back to normal. He had also stopped trying to listen to the happy banter of the Weasel and Mudblood, or Weaselette and the Rat-faced Boy, as Harry's quietness during their conversations unnerved him a little more each passing day. Besides, it really wasn't very interesting to hear the Weasel go on and on for hours about the bloody Chudley Cannons – horrible team!- or the Mudblood reminding the three of them about their upcoming NEWTS in seventeen months.

However, sometimes Blaise would be there and talk to him at dinner. She never brought up Pansy, or the time when she found Draco crying or the Death Eaters. Mostly, she talked about lighter stuff, conversational topics- the trips to Italy to visit her grandfather, the vacations to Brighton and India she was planning to take after graduation. Draco just nodded along and muttered a polite 'sounds nice' once in a while, but he _did _appreciate Blaise's attempts to be….well, normal.

Neither of them brought up their relationships, although Blaise confessed that she was worried about her upcoming Ancient Runes exam in January.

"Why?" Draco asked, taken aback. Surely a professor wouldn't fail a student he was shagging. He leaned in close, for privacy's sake, and smirked. "I thought you two were…close."

Blaise smiled softly and snorted. She leaned even closer, so much so that her breathing was tickling the side of Draco's jaw. "Sometimes people change. Things happen and life takes two people in two different- or colliding- directions." She blinked at Draco, pulling back. "A lot of us have had…revelations in the past few days," Blaise stated causally, "not just you, Draco." She patted his shoulder affectionately and walked out of the Great Hall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Six days after 'the incident' with Harry Potter, Draco still found his thoughts _perpetually dwelling on it._

He was in the prefects' bathroom, attempting to purge his thoughts in the pool-sized tub that he had filled with foamy green lavender-scented bubbles that crackled all around him. He didn't have a pensieve of his own yet. And baths were always relaxing. Usually. Lavender, he recalled from Herbology, was supposed to be relaxing or rejuvenating, or something like that. He had run the water to the point where his skin was nearly blistering from the heat, and Draco felt feverish and listless. His mind wandered freely.

But he still felt horrible.

Draco was furious with himself. Beyond loathing. Beyond disgust. For losing control like that. For forcing someone like that- it didn't matter who, it was the _act._

For forcing Harry.

_Why did I have to take the bloody potion? Why did Pansy have to give it to me? Why do I want Harry so badly?_

_You still do_, he told himself. _But Harry will never want you, you know. Could never want you. Remember how he cringed at you that day? How he's so quiet at meals? How his walk is more of a 'shuffle-down-the-halls'?_

_After what you did to him…_

Draco let his body slide down the slick marble bench that he was perched on in the tub. He slipped down into the water, fully submerging himself. The too-hot water surrounding his body, washing over his head was cleansing in some way and he stayed underneath it until his lungs were burning with lack of air.

His eyes were shut when he surfaced and he pushed back the veil of hair that covered them with his palm. He floated back against the marble bench that ran the perimeter of the pool. Draco felt his muscles tense involuntarily after a moment. Something felt…wrong. In the bathroom, a presence.

_Probably one of the stupid ghosts that haunt this area of the castle…_

He opened his eyes cautiously and turned towards the door.

Which Harry Potter was gingerly closing behind himself with a locking spell.

Draco sucked in a gasp. His mind was racing- what was Harry doing here? Did he not notice Draco? What would he do if he noticed Draco?

He must have.

The tub was smack-bang in the middle of the room.

Harry walked along the edge of the tub carefully, green eyes on Draco the whole time. The Gryffindor stopped just before he walked in front of a tall mirror where Draco had left his clothes piled messily. Harry began to tug at the hem of (another) Weasley jumper, this one yellow. It must have snagged in his necklace, because he paused and had to pull a thread out of the silver chain.

_What is he doing?_

Draco swallowed and decided to figure this out with the most direct approach possible. "Hullo, Harry," he said quietly. The high-vaulted ceilings in the room made his voice echo loudly.

Harry was working at the fastenings of his trousers. "Hullo…" he paused a moment, determining how exactly to address the Slytherin, "…Draco."

Draco felt strangely self-conscious. His hands were bunching up large chunks of foam above his body, to hide himself.

_Since when are you bashful?_

_Never.___

He stopped himself and lifted his chin a little higher, a little more arrogantly. More confidently. "What are you doing?"

Clad only in his boxer shorts, which his hands were gripping at the waistband, Harry looked at him pensively; strangely calm. "I'm changing- can't you feel it, _lover?"_

Draco blinked. 

And got suds in his eye. It stung and he brought a hand up to rub it out. "Sorry?" he sputtered. His ears were deceiving him. The echo was very distracting.

Harry scrunched up his dark brows, confusion written all over his face. "I said I was changing."

"Oh. Right."

Harry set his glasses down atop his stack of clothes that now included his boxers. Draco turned away slightly. He didn't want to be reminded of the other boy's bruises more than was necessary.

There was a splash of water next to him. Then a wave of bubbles and ripple of water. Harry surfaced from beneath a spot of foam which clung to his unruly black hair. He smiledat Draco. "You don't mind me here, do you?"

Draco couldn't believe his senses for a second time that evening. He must be going nutters! Had Harry forgiven _him? Did Harry hate him less? Was this some cruel joke concocted by the Gryffindors for some unknown, yet dastardly purpose?_

"No," Draco blurted.

Harry hauled himself up onto the bench seat next to Draco. Only their torsos were visible above the water. Despite that, Draco prayed that he wouldn't get hard. That Harry wouldn't notice if he did get hard.

"Good," Harry said and looked around the room. He didn't have his glasses on and his eyes were larger than usual, and much more unfocused. His pupils darted about blindly.

"Er…what _are _you doing here…Harry?" Draco couldn't help himself. His mouth ran away before he could stop it.

Harry stopped smiling and thought a moment, absently toying with his malachite pendant. "I want to talk with you," he said solemnly.

To brace himself for the impending inevitable, Draco took a deep- and shuddering- breath. He didn't say anything. His tongue had shriveled up and he had swallowed it. It sat in the pit of his gut, a dead weight.

"What you did to me- I know you were under the influence of the potion and all, but…" Harry ran a hand through his wet hair. It was drying at the ends and beginning to stick up into the multitude of cowlicks as usual. Harry mumbled something very low and blushed, refusing to meet Draco's eyes.

Or had he really blushed? The water was very hot and steamy. It was hard to tell.

"Sorry Harry?"

Harry looked up with clear resolve in his jade eyes. The pink drained from his face and he brought a shy hand to Draco's warm cheek. Draco leaned into the caress, unthinking.

_He's stringing you along. Touching you? Don't be fooled! You're a Malfoy. You raped him._

"Make love to me Draco," Harry whispered slowly.

Draco's eyes widened, but before he had time to respond- which would have been affirmative- Harry had boldly caught Draco's lower lip by surprise with his teeth. Draco moaned into the Gryffindor's lips and brought his hands around to Harry's back, which was slick and sudsy, to bring him closer.

Hands tangled in Draco's own wet hair, Harry feathered lambent kisses in a searing trail from the Slytherin's mouth to his cheek to his ear lobe. Harry caught it between his teeth and nipped at it. Draco gasped and arched his hips into the other boy's.

"Do you like that?" Harry bit harder, enough to sting.

Draco's ear was on fire. "Oh god…" he moaned, "yes!" His hips strained again and his hold on Harry's back strengthened and slipped on the slick skin when he gripped too hard.

Harry's tongue slid along the ridge of his ear. Draco shivered as the wetness. It made his spine tingle and blood rush to his cock. "You taste so good, Draco…"

Draco moaned even louder when Harry's husky voice sounded his name. Harry wanted him. Him! He was elated; he felt wonderful, alive-

and so horribly, horribly _guilty_.

Draco pulled back sharply, Harry's teeth catching on his ear and grazing it. "I can't do this," he managed and fumbled in the deep water to find the steps to exit the tub.

Harry grabbed Draco's left wrist with a violent splash of verdant water and spray of bubbles. "No," he said possessively, sneering.

Draco reeled back from the shock of hearing such force in the word. He slipped along one of the wet marble steps, falling painfully down another two underwater steps into the tub again.

_Since when did Harry sneer?_

_Since you raped him!_

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Harry was there first.

"I mean…I-" Harry stammered, off-guard, and frowned. "I know you won't hurt me again. I forgive you. I did that day. I know you weren't at fault."

_Mea Culpa, Harry. I am._

He looked up into Draco's eyes, limpid pools of emerald staring down into stormy, unsure grey eyes. "Please Draco; I do. I want you inside me."

Draco swallowed, still uncertain, but he didn't move away. Or look down. "How can you be sure?" he asked warily. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of Harry's eye.

Harry smiled and caught Draco's hand; he stroked the back of it with the pad of his Quidditch-callused thumb. "I just have this feeling. That this is the way things are meant to be. You, inside me." He glided over in the water closer Draco, making a little trail of cleared water behind him.

Draco sighed. He cocked his head a little to the side. After a pregnant pause he said "Not here then." He held out his hand. It was shaking slightly.

Harry took the hand and gripped it firmly, reassuring with the confidence and strength. Gold-tinted skin met silver pale. Draco led them out of the tub and over to a neatly stacked pile of terry towels by a rack of white robes on wall-pegs. He took one off the hook and set it down on the floor, Harry doing the same in turn before he laid himself atop them on his back. His body was prostrate, like a gift for the gods.

Gods who raped mortals.

Draco kneeled down next to him, holding the Gryffindor boy's head in his hands as one would a rare relic. But then Harry _was_ a rare relic, someone to be treasured in his own way. "Are you sure about this?" he asked earnestly. He _needed _to know.

Harry's eyes were twinkling like his pendant, a perfect match of green vibrancy. "Yes."

Closing his eyes, Draco finally brought their mouths together. He felt Harry's soft lips shudder under his and move against them, parting and urging Draco's tongue into a dance with his own. Draco let out a groan and tentatively complied. Harry's tongue met his own and they battled, roving, pulsing like living velvet against animate silk. Draco ran the tip along pearly teeth, along the roof of Harry's mouth and the Gryffindor moaned deeply and wiggled against the Slytherin.

Draco shifted his body along Harry's to have better and more direct access to the boy's mouth; he lay his body on top of the Gryffindor's, drying skin meeting its match with slight sweat. Draco hissed when their erections finally brushed ever so slightly, so innocently and accidentally. Harry groaned and stifled a curse. It was the most exquisite sensation. He did it again, on purpose, and Harry arched upwards, wantonly.

"Why, Potter, aren't we the little slut?" Draco's voice was thick and he smirked.

Harry's eyes darkened and he snuck his hands under Draco's hip until they fingered his hardness. He grated his fingernails along its length.

Draco's erection scorched and Harry's hand brought stars to his vision. Then Harry tiptoed them down back a second time. Who knew that that sort of pain and pleasure mixed was so…sensational? "Fuck!" he snarled and moved to rub himself against the Gryffindor's hand, which had ceased toying for the moment.

"Now who's the slut?" Harry chuckled and pulled his hand away, making sure to drag it ever so intentionally along Draco. Draco moaned in protest and Harry had his own turn to smirk.

"God…" Draco's eyes glazed over with absolute desire and he was determined to make Harry pay for the remark. He brought his _own _hand between their hips and ran the end of his index finger along Harry's own cock, swirling circles at the head. Harry hissed and cursed and clutched at Draco's hair in desperation, yanking at clumps and pulling Draco's head back.

"Just…just fuck me…Draco!" he pleaded.

Draco couldn't help but smirk to himself- the way Harry had uttered that, just made him wonder! He didn't stop. Instead, he brushed his cheek along Harry's cock, watching the reactions from the other boy intently. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head, but were still open to slits. His cheeks deepened their carmine. Draco found that intensely erotic, in such an innocent manner. He had to lick the blush from Harry's face, then he returned to other areas. Harry's toes were starting to curl. The Gryffindor bucked underneath him and babbled incoherently and yanked even more viciously at Draco's hair- he could feel his roots being pulled out one by one.

I'll have no hair when this is over.

But Harry didn't relent.

His tongue darted out and tickled Harry, whose moans were gathering in frequency and intensity. The room echoed them. Draco was delirious- that he could cause such a beautiful reaction from Harry. That Harry was moaning _his name more heavily, voice thick and laden with lust. That Harry could taste so. Fucking. Good. Salty and musky and earthy and spicy and…__divine._

He was in Heaven.

He pressed his fingertips into Harry's hipbones with a slight pressure, not enough to leave welts as he had the first time, but firmly enough. Draco must have hit old bruises because Harry yelped in discomfort.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled. Or thought he did, he really couldn't tell at this point.

He held Harry's thighs instead, the smooth inner thighs that were the gloriously pale golden colour of the rest of the Gryffindor and hairless, in opposition of the remainder of his legs.

Draco nudged his head forward and breathed in the heady scent like a lifeline. He was light-headed with the scent and sight and taste of Harry.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

Draco pulled his mouth away and lifted his head to catch a sight of the other boy; Harry was flushed with a sheen of sweat and shimmering water droplets mottled his body. His green eyes glossy and milky, his pupils massively dilated.

He looked like he was on opiates. Or marijuana. Or possessed.

And just so sodding sexy.

Draco wondered if he had a similar appearance.

"Please, Draco." He saw Harry's lips move slightly, forming the round 'o'. "I want you inside me now."

Draco met Harry's mouth again and kissed him with all he had, thrusting his tongue through the Gryffindor's mouth and cutting off any and all air between them. Hard desperation melded two into one. "Anything." ****

After Draco had mumbled a lubrication spell he had learned from a pilfered magazine reputed to be Blaise's, their bodies moved together in a frenzy of thrashing limbs, thrusting hips, hands tangling in hair, fingers scraping marks into shoulders, mouths tasting, licking, sucking and blood, sweat and saliva mixing.

Draco had to force himself to wait to come inside Harry at the same time the other boy did. To reach completion in unison. Their muffled screams mingled together in the hazy silence of the bathroom.

Slowly, carefully, Draco pulled himself out of Harry, their hearts pounding loudly and chests heaving, but sated. The light of the room was stark and harsh in the moment, as the steam cooled and evaporated. Draco reached for his wand. "Nox Partium," he murmured and the torches dimmed to a murky darkness.

In the half-light, he lay beside Harry, spooned against the other boy's back. Harry was pliable and rested his head contentedly against Draco's collar. Draco stroked the plastered black hair with one hand and wrapped the other around his waist. Harry entwined his fingers with Draco's longer, slimmer ones and squeezed lightly, reassuring. Draco could feel his smile.

It mirrored his own.

"That was…very nice." Harry wiggled a little closer into Draco's chest and ran his ankle along the Slytherin's shin seductively.

"Mmmm," Draco kissed the crown of messy hair and smiled himself. This was the way things were supposed to be. He exhaled peacefully. This was good. 

Harry squeezed their hands tighter and brought them to his lips, kissing Draco's palm. "Palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss."

"What?" Draco wasn't familiar with what Harry had said. Maybe it was some Muggle ritual.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I don't really know where that came from."

"I didn't hurt you, then?" Draco asked abruptly, betraying a little too much emotion. He frowned at himself.

_Weakling._ He heard his father's condescending voice in the distance.

Harry shook his head, hair brushing along Draco's mouth and jaw. "No, this time it- it was very nice."

Silence fell over them again, like a blanket. Neither moved.

"What happens n-"

"Harry, I-"

They both spoke at once. Draco saw Harry blushing and took the cue to speak. "What happens now, Harry?" He cocked his eyebrows up and frowned a little, worried.

"I…don't know. I don't think this will work."

Draco smirked. "I know. It could never."

"Not us, no," Harry reiterated. Then he seemed to think a moment, before turning his head to Draco. "Are you still researching that dagger of yours?"

Draco was thoroughly puzzled as to why Harry would ask such an absurd question. "I suppose so," he admitted. "I really haven't done much since- since you stopped coming to the library."

"I'm sorry about that." Harry sighed and kissed Draco's palm again. "Well, now at least." He turned all the way around so their faces were even and noses brushed. Draco felt a compulsive urge to itch it. "Could I help you?" 

Draco gave him a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes. He hadn't done that in a long while. It felt good. And strangely liberating. "I'd…like that."

"Good," Harry paused. "I suppose it would be best if we went back to hating each other after this. Or _mostly _hating each other. It'd be easier."

"It _would _raise less questions,"

"Then perhaps it would be best." Harry finished off.

"But, maybe just until _after _Christmas…?" Draco offered up a hopeful suggestion.

Harry smiled, nodding. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me again."

"Alright."

**Author's Note: **The prefects' bathroom was inspired by so many other ones that I've read in fanfic- Barb's, Marysia's and Penguin's. I can't- and wouldn't- emulate their geniuses but I can be inspired by them. Now you all want to go read their work!

As always, where would I be without my personal beta goddesses, Berne and Thalia. There isn't enough money in the world to show how much these two are worth to me. 

And much love to my readers and reviewers. Yes, writers always say they write only for themselves, but *shifts eyes* we're lying. It's You Guys who we write for. Or at least I do that. And don't _ever _be afraid to leave me even the tiniest review, because even though my life right now is very busy and I almost never reply to reviews, be assured that I read _every single review I get and smile when I do._

That said; please don't ask me to write faster, update sooner etc. I work fulltime. And I've been experimenting with different Harry Potter ships lately. I try to update faithfully at least once a month. No worries!

And also, I have to thank my livejournal friends for helping me through the past while when real life caught up with an ugly bang. Special thanks has to go out to Lycoris, Untiemybinds, Naftey, and Lilie_the_mouse. Love to you all!


	11. End of the Affair?

**Title:** The Subtle Knife 11/23

**Author name:** Ociwen

**Author email:** an_fisher@hotmail.com

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** All, to be safe

**Summary:** When Draco receives a mysterious dagger from his father, strange things begin to happen between Harry Potter and himself. Is the past doomed to repeat itself? Chapter eleven…at long last! (H/D)

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

This is **slash**. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.

The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Wintersjuly, because I promised.

**Chapter 11: End of the Affair?**

_Malfoy,_

_Meet me out by Greenhouse 3 at 11.30 tonight._

Draco reread the anonymous note sent to him by a school owl. It was small and wrinkled and unsigned. But he knew who had sent it, simply from the hurried, messy, smallish scrawl.

Draco smirked contentedly to himself. Harry's writing matched his hair.

Since their encounter in the Prefects' bathroom- God! Draco was still in a haze from the sheer bliss of it- he and Harry had not seen each other. Not deliberately, of course. There was the one afternoon that they had met by chance in the library. Draco had been sitting alone at his table. Harry had been with the Weasel and Granger, the three of them at a table across the room. Harry had given Draco puppy eyes and pouted meaningfully and Draco had winked back twice, but there was nothing either could have really done.

Harry seemed to be kept constantly busy by his worried friends. They knew something was up. Granger was always pursing her lips and frowning when Harry would stare off in space. Weasley was always shooting Harry looks of sympathy. The Girl Weasley, also staying for the holidays, flitted around the group like a drunken butterfly.

They had passed each other in the halls a couple of times after meals, too, and Draco made sure to walk close by as he did. Harry took it a step further by brushing his thigh against Draco's, or their shoulders together, or run his hand imperceptibly along Draco's arm. And every time Draco shivered with the forbidden, delicious contact. His body would flush with arousal and his cheeks would pinken.

Normally, he would have been ashamed that his body responded so involuntarily to the mercy of Harry Potter's brief and teasing touches. But Harry seemed to enjoy causing these reactions in Draco. A mischievous green glitter would add to his eyes and the corners of Harry's mouth would twitch in a smile.

It was simply the matter that Draco liked that Harry liked his responses. So he didn't try to stop his body of feel foolish afterward. He wanted Harry to be happy.

Which was odd considering that Draco had spent well over five years of his life hating, or at the very least being jealous- if that were possible- of Harry Potter.

God, he had such wonderful eyes!

And skin.

And lips.

And-

Draco sighed. There were only two days left of the Christmas holidays and he had _been with Harry a whole of two times. Admittedly, he didn't really count the first. It shouldn't count. As much as he wanted to be with the Gryffindor, to hold him again, kiss him again, touch him again-_

It just couldn't work.

That morning at breakfast, Draco had received a letter from his father. He had been staring at Harry- whilst trying to maintain his aloofness- when the owl indignantly dropped the rolled, sealed letter into his porridge. And the porridge had, of course, happened to be soupy that day.

Draco pulled the half-soggy letter out and wiped it with a nearby second year's cloth napkin. The student wouldn't notice anyway.

Because the paper was cold from the frigid winter air, the family seal snapped easily. Draco's eyes roamed unhappily across his father's curt phrases. He could almost _hear_ his father's voice in his head, disappointed as always.

_Draco-_

_I have yet to hear of a certain individual's response from the 'gift' you were to have given them. I trust you have done so already. If not, I will not be the only person displeased with you. Do not be insolent in matters such as these because I will not hesitate to punish you myself._

_Your mother has purchased your new robes for the spring, among them several new ornamental ones that you may find appropriate for 'friendly' festivities. She sends her love to you._

_Father_

Draco put the letter away for later. He didn't want to be provoked any further while other students were around. When at last he had a chance to return to his room, he took it and reread the letter there. He glanced over to the dagger lying on his dresser, untouched. If it wasn't for the house elves' cleaning, there would be a little layer of dusty film all over it. He picked the weapon up. It was cool to the touch, much cooler than the drafts of his room. In the low afternoon winter light the gems embedded within it were not shimmering. They were dull. The deep colour of the sapphires was so fathomless it was black. It reminded Draco a bit of his hair.

And his eyes were so…

Draco sighed. He needed to speak with Harry. Yes, he had been the one to…initiate their relationship, but he also needed to be the one to end it. For both their sakes, it just couldn't go on any further. He wouldn't allow himself to fall so deep that he had stepped so far in blood that he could never wash clean.

Not that Harry was killing him inside. Not with the longing, the desire to be with him. No.

"I don't want to hurt him," Draco mumbled as he fingered the hilt of the dagger, "but I can't give him this either."

He set it down again where it had been. It sat there, still and quiet and lifeless, save for the slight hum in the air. It wasn't so much a buzzing as the ring of loneliness in his ears.

Draco picked his quill and a spare sheet of parchment from his desk, then he scribbled a quick note before heading off to the Owlery.

_Lakeside_.___ By the dock. _Midnight__.____

_                                                -D_

He required no reply.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

He stood there, waiting at the lakeside and shivering under his cloak. He cursed himself for not choosing a warmer one because in this wool one he was fucking _freezing. There was a slight wind across the water and it had blown away the warmer fog that usually set in at morning. Despite its thickness, his cloak did little to help and he could feel the wind permeating his whole body. He couldn't feel his ears or his legs or his nose, but his hands were shoved into his pockets and they were fine._

He had arrived early, but then he had to. He had to regain his composure and prepare. "Harry," he'd say, "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but this once I must. We're…enemies. We should hate each other. This can't work. We have to hate each other again." Then lastly, Draco planned to kiss Harry once and for all with a simple "Forgive me."

God, it seemed so contrived in his head!

If that plan didn't work, though, Draco hardened himself- and not his cock- to the knowledge that he might very well have to use an _Obliviate._

_Don't make me do that, Harry_, he begged silently. _Please. Please just understand. It already will hurt so much…_

The minutes passed like hours and, even pocketwatchless, Draco _knew_ Harry had to be late. His stomach dropped every time the wind would rush by his ears. It marked the time and seemed to whisper to him 'Why?'. He felt horrible for it. How could he go through with it? But then he'd already done so many horrible things that one more might just make everything the smallest iota better.

In the long run.

Harry was really, really late. And this was strange. He usually wasn't late at all, let alone very late. 

If he hadn't been born and bred a Malfoy, Draco would have begun to worry over Harry's absence. Instead, he forced his thoughts to stray. He stopped his pacing along the cold path that ran adjacent to the lake; he sat down on the cold, frozen ground. His feet were tired and sore from standing. If it wasn't so cold outside, he might have considered peeling his boots off and massaging them.

He had to end it now. He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to start focusing on other parts of his life, like how his father was going to 'punish' him for not giving Harry that ruddy dagger.

He remembered a brief and (at the time) fleeting conversation he and his mother had shared the previous summer. Their family had been in France on holiday, but his father, and his mother to some degree, had been canvassing several prominent wizarding families for potential brides. No English girl was good enough for them, they wanted fine-boned French blood. A cultured, sophisticated daughter-in-law.

All Draco really thought about was that at least the English girls bothered to shave.

Draco had snuck off one night to go swimming in a tributary of the Loire with the sons of the local departmental French Ministry of Magic. His mother had caught him furtively trying to sneak out of the chateau where they had been staying. He'd used a spell that conjured a rope ladder, but it must have set off the wards because she came charging into his guestroom in her negligee.

He was lucky it had been his mother that caught him.

She was livid. Her lips pursed into tiny slits that matched her eyes and her nostrils flared. Even though she was skimpily dressed in creamy silk, Draco found her foreboding. He climbed back up the ladder silently.

He had never seen her that furious.

"Where the _hell_ have you been, Draco?" she hissed, not wanting to wake the chateau. "Sneaking off in the middle of the night like that, young man?" Her hands were on her hips, but Draco could see they were shaking. She waited for an answer.

Draco looked at the floor. "I went swimming. In the river. With the Poulain boys." he replied as nonchalantly as he could, trying to inch his way towards the hallway, away from his mother.

"Be glad your _father_ hasn't heard of this! Swimming in a river! It could be infested with something. Don't be so stupid," she snarled, "like some Muggle child in the village here. Disgusting!"

Draco had never gone swimming in a river again.

He'd never actually been punished by his father before, not really. He didn't know what he might do- flog him, use the belt, like Crabbe's father, or maybe that spanking spell like Goyle's parents. What if his father heard about what Draco was currently doing? Lusting after Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived! The Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord!

Draco shuddered at the thought. His father was a force to be reckoned with when he had unpleasant moods but he'd never seen his father furious. This, though? This would be an utter and total abomination of everything his father stood for. It was a sure bet to make him angry. Disinheritance would be a trivial detail compared to what his father could and would probably do to him.

Whatever that would be. He was sketchy on that.

By the time Harry finally arrived at the lakeshore, Draco had already made his decision long before.

He didn't actually see Harry come up beside his lonely vigil, but he did hear the telltale shuffling of feet through snow and the swish of heavy clothing.

He turned his head a little further from Harry and bit his lip. It had been shaking.

Harry didn't notice this. "Hi," he said as he dropped his Invisibility Cloak. He stepped close to Draco and leaned in as though to rest his chin on Draco's shoulder.

Draco recoiled a little. Harry flinched, looking confused. "Hullo," he said curtly, business-like. He didn't want to deal with any more feelings than he was bound to be. He opened his mouth, speech prepared, but Harry was there first.

"Sorry I was so late and all, but Ron and Hermione saw me sneaking out." He grinned lop-sidedly, looking as edible as ever, and sat down on the frozen earth. He spread the cloak out under his bum and his eyebrows rose, inviting Draco to sit next to him.

Draco took the cue and sat down stiffly, keeping a safe distance and trying to ignore it when Harry kept shifting ever closer. "I thought you had you cloak with you." He motioned to it. "I thought that was the whole point of _being invisible."_

Harry frowned, his mouth crinkling like the waves out on the slate lake. "Yeah, well, they saw the portrait hole open mysteriously and they cornered me."

Draco snorted and didn't say anything. He didn't like the Mudblood and Weasel before all this and he sure wouldn't like them after.

"I said I was going to meet Snuffles."

"Snuffles?" Draco scoffed- what the hell was Potter going at? "That's not a code name for me, is it? How much of a bloody poof do you take me for?"

"It's a code name for my godfather," Harry said through his teeth in a low voice, "Keep it down!" He looked at Draco, who quickly averted his eyes. "I could tell that they were hurt. They know I'm hiding something."

Draco snorted again.

"Need a tissue?" Harry reached into his pocket.

"No! I'm fine."

"Draco?" Harry asked, taking off his mitten and running a cold hand along Draco's jaw. He shivered at the touch, "Do you think we might…" he looked away for a moment, over the lake in a mirror of Draco's pose, "I dunno…tell people one day- about us, that is?"

"No."

He had to say it before they were in too far. He had to.

Harry blinked. "Sorry?" He laughed a little, as if to ease some sort of internal tension.

"I said, 'No', Potter," Draco repeated with a sneer. "No you can't tell people and no there is no us."

Harry's smile crumbled like the snow they sat on. He swallowed and his eyes darkened, going from bright and alive to glassy in one fell swoop. Draco almost felt a stab of pity. A pang of guilt.

Almost.

He pushed that feeling aside, trying to remember his father. What would his father do? That was what mattered.

"What?" Harry managed in a strangled voice. "I thought-"

Draco sighed. It was the only thing that kept his breathing stable because it, too, was starting to panic. "Look, Potter," he said in a tone that was reserved for first years and Crabbe and Goyle, "this isn't working. It can't work and it won't work. I'm just ending what never was. You said yourself earlier that there was no 'us'."

Harry's jaw dropped a notch. Typical Gryffindor, never expects what inevitably comes. "You were the one who kissed _me first."_

"It was a mistake then."

"You said you wanted me. That you liked me!" Harry's voice was growing louder.

Draco was about to tell Harry to quiet down, instead he just raised an eyebrow. "I never said exactly that, now did I?" He sighed. Harry was so thick; he'd never accept that he was being dump- no, _cast off_ at this rate. This was only making things harder. "Potter, you're a nice enough bloke, but not for me-"

"This is about your father isn't it?" Harry hissed, his face contorting as quickly as his voice.

"He has nothing to do with this!" Draco hissed back, his lips curling up. Strangely, as much as he wanted to get away from Harry Potter, their bodies were moving closer.

"You lie as badly as I do!"

Draco was at the end of his tether. His heart was…for lack of better words, rather fragile and Potter had to bring up his father? "Fuck you, Potter! Just fuck you! Go be with that stupid slag Chang! That's what you want. She's good for you. Or that Weaselette! They both are in love with you!"

"Since when are you the judge of what's good for me? You're not my parents!"

Draco nodded once, glaring. "That's right," he said with a malicious little grin, "they're gone and dead."

Maybe that would make Harry angry enough to leave.

"And yours is a fucking Death Eater! I don't care about _him!"_

"Well I do." Draco stared at Harry, forcing his gaze to hold. Those green eyes were his downfall.

Harry stared back, emerald flashing like a cut stone. "I won't be with someone else just because of him. No!" He folded his arms.

This was exasperating! Gryffindors were so pigheaded! Draco had tried to make it as easy as he could for the both of them to part, but…it was because Harry was a Gryffindor. That was the only explanation. "Why not?"

Harry turned to the lake. On any other night the stars would be twinkling on its inky surface, but not this one. Draco almost wished they had been. It would have been more nostalgic, more perfect.

"Because they're not you," he finally said after a long pause. 

Draco shook his head. He laughed nervously. "God, you know. You can do better than me. Don't be so foolish, Harry- Potter!" His voice softened and he turned his head, muffling his voice into the hood of his cloak, "I raped you."

They both winced at it. Draco could _feel_ it.

"I forgive you, you know. Even if you can't forgive yourself."

"This can't work. I'm ending it," Draco said finally, standing up. He started to walk back to the castle, head up high and looking straight ahead. If he turned around….

He didn't. He smoothed his robes with his mitten-clad hands and continued trudging through the snow. There wasn't very much, but it was enough to make walking a chore.

Harry must have noticed his hands because he raced up behind Draco and tugged at one. "Then at least give me one more night," he said.

Draco couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. It was all so surreal. "Alright," he murmured and led the way back to the castle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Draco had never seen a Gryffindor dorm before.

Harry had snuck them both up under his Invisibility Cloak. Draco memorized the direction along the way, just in case he ever needed to check it out. It was a little different than what he had thought previously- he took a left turn at the Dutch oil painting of Hildegard Van Der Schlossen but it was really a right. It could become a valuable piece of information and it was better to be prepared than not, right?

He waited motionlessly near Harry's bedroom door as Harry closed it. Then Harry ripped off the cloak and threw it carelessly to the other side of the room. It was dark and Draco couldn't see much.

Harry looked up at Draco expectantly with eyes shining in the midnight glow of the night from a frosted glass window. He sat down on what must have been his bed. When he used a faint Lumos spell Draco saw his glasses slip down his nose; his face was flushed. Draco couldn't tell whether it was from the walk back to the castle or something else though.

Draco glanced around the room warily. It was decorated, obviously, in red and gold with thick tapestries of majestic unicorns and regal lions that were unraveling at the bottom. They littered the stone walls and gave the room a warmth to it that the Slytherin dorms could never attain. Even in the dim light. 

If he could be jealous, Draco might have been, but he did appreciate the cool solitude and lonely serenity of the dungeons. It was good for studying. And thinking. And doing other things. But the Gryffindor common room, when they had passed through it, seemed to have much more of a homey, happy feeling, even when it was deserted at the late hour.

He nodded when he saw the single bed, large and canopied with a smiling Harry Potter on top. "You have your own room? I'd have thought you'd want to share with your other mates."

Small talk was good.

"Well, I did but they wouldn't let me. Dean said I'd put the place to waste if I didn't use it." Harry smiled sheepishly and motioned for Draco to sit down next to him.

Draco didn't, instead he sauntered slowly around the room, inspecting it. It was devoid of much personal detail- oh sure there was a tie thrown over the back of a lumpy chair, a shirt crumpled against the floor, a few books lay open on a non-descript wooden desk, but clearly Harry wasn't much into decorating. The walls were stark, no posters, no photos, no tacked up pictures of Snape with darts through his eyes.

There was, however, a small gold frame that caught his eye. A picture of the Golden Trio, taken several years previously, smiled back at him before realizing who it was. The Granger figure glared at Draco and pursed her lips. Her teeth were as huge as ever and her lips did a poor job of concealing them. Weasley was giving him the finger and his lips were moving as though he was swearing. Surprisingly, the Harry figure was glaring and scowling too.

Harry must have noticed his lingering gaze on the photograph because he got up and turned it over, covering the faces on the desk. "Sorry about that," he shrugged with a boyish grin.

Draco ignored him and asked in his best aloof voice, "Speaking of which, where _are Weasley and Granger? I would have imagined they would be waiting here for your return." He smirked to himself, knowing the alternative._

Harry's brick-red blush was worth it. Draco felt something quiver down below. "Erm…they…well, they-" He fiddled incessantly with the hem of his latest too-large travesty of a shirt. "I'd rather not think about that."

Draco laughed and grabbed Harry's hand roughly, pulling him over to the bed where they ended up in a tangled heap of limbs and squeals. He grinned as Harry brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. "I know where they are. Or at least what they are probably doing."

Harry laughed, too. It made Draco's heart just that much more lighter to see his features play with something more than cold indifference or annoyance. He was so…

Draco stopped himself before the word 'wonderful' made it out of his mouth.

"What we're going to be doing," Harry said, looking into Draco's eyes with those large, luminous green orbs that always seemed to match his silly necklace. His face grew stony and serious and he stopped smiling. "For the last time, that is."

Draco didn't nod back, he just looked at Harry solemnly. Then he gently took off Harry's glasses and folded them up on a side table. Harry cringed at this, blinking wildly. Draco suspected he didn't like being without his glasses for very long. Though, come to think of it, he wouldn't like being without his Oculus Potion if he was past due to take it.

"Then we should make it worth it." He stroked his forefinger softly along Harry's cheekbone. It was a lovely spot of skin there, smooth and baby-fine, but his bone really jutted out too far. Harry's dark eyelashes, so framing, like eye makeup almost, fluttered closed.

Harry nodded once, taking Draco's hand in his own and squeezing it. "Yes," he said and opened his unfocused eyes on Draco.

Draco cupped Harry's face in his hands and sighed. Harry looked so lovely there, not beautiful to anyone really, but he radiated something. He was so warm, underneath Draco's body, his face flushed pink and warm with desire, mouth parted slightly and a small, sad little smile on them.

"Oh, Potter," he murmured and brought his mouth down to the other boy's, seeking and searching and finding as painlessly as he could. Draco could feel Harry's smile grow through their kiss and he frowned.

Parting was supposed to be such sweet sorrow, all miserable and mopey, not happy and smiling.

Harry's tongue was poking at Draco's mouth, more insistent than the last kiss, more carnal than it was chaste and innocent. But the feel of that tongue stroking along his lips! Sliding and moving and wet and slippery and silky and hot. Draco could feel himself shiver with the delightful, intoxicating tingle that it was causing his body to experience, so he opened his mouth wider, allowing Harry in fully.

As Harry's tongue invaded and pushed and plundered his mouth, Harry's hands were tugging at the waistband of Draco's trousers, still cold from outside. Draco groaned and his fingers curled at the sides of Harry's face as those familiar calloused hands fumbled with the fastening, undoing them and hastily pulling away trousers, then pushing underwear down past his thighs with swift, fluid movements. He was moaning into Harry's mouth, the vibrations causing Harry's tongue to go wild, his hands clawed at Harry's own shirt in an effort to undress him. Harry's fingers continued to wriggle their way between their hips, brushing hot erections only separated by Harry's thin clothing.

Draco hissed as the hands curled around his cock, his hips bucking forward of their own accord, so used to and sure of the movements Draco didn't care if it seemed wanton and desperate. "Oh God!" he choked, and tried to tug Harry's shirt from his chest, wanting to feel hot flesh of that other body for himself, but he was much too distracted by the hands and fingers dancing along his hard, aching cock and he gave up caring as strong legs wrapped around his own for support.

His hips were thrusting maniacally into Harry's own, somehow knowing they might never have a chance like this again. Harry's erection hindered it all, cloth-covered and rough. Harry kept teasing him with it, purposely rubbing them together, only to pull away so achingly slowly and so hard that the rough fabric would be sure to leave marks. His teasing slowed and lengthened as Draco's mewls sped up. He didn't care anymore when those fingers dragged so hard it almost sliced the underside of his cock. The teasing, the torture was delicious in the painful finality. Draco didn't care what noises were coming from his mouth, so long as Harry never stopped and never let him come. He was at the other boy's complete mercy and he could do nothing but focus on how _good it felt._

His erection brushed once more against the grating fabric of the trousers underneath himself. "Fuck, Potter, please-"

Harry's hands only continued their relentless, delicious torture. His tongue still stroked Draco's, which had gone limp and loose only to lash back with every flick of those fingers, every squeeze of those thighs, every twist of those hips.

Draco couldn't pull away, couldn't stop himself now. He _knew he was about to come right then and there, nothing could stop him, not even if Harry's hands stopped. His muscles were tightening, his thighs quivering and twitching, his toes curling, his hands yanking at that messy black hair that never seemed to mind when he combed his hands through it. He was so close to the edge, the precipice that just one. more. time. would-_

One. More. Time.

Everything exploded all round him. Near him. _Within himself. He could feel himself coming, hot bursts of ejaculate pulsating through his cock and onto himself and Harry and Harry's hands. He thought he might have been screaming Harry's name, but he wasn't sure if it was even coherent and he couldn't be bothered to feel ashamed because it just felt too good to deny himself such a thing._

Harry pulled away from their kisses at long last, a little trail of saliva clinging to his red mouth. He smiled at Draco. Draco brought a shaking hand up to Harry's lips, as if to assure himself this was still real, that Harry was still there for a little while longer.

Harry just brought a come-covered digit up to his mouth and licked it clean with his tongue.

Draco had never seen anything more sexy in his life. His breathing was panting at the thought of those lips not just licking his fingers clean, but Draco's own cock. He grinned back at Harry. Was he making a mistake, ending this? Especially when it was this good? He had never screamed when he came before, especially not with Pansy and he was never going to go back to _that anyway._

But it was a necessity he do so. 

Okay, so maybe not Pansy, but he couldn't be with Harry and that was that.

He opened his mouth to tell Harry, to remind him that they didn't have much time left, but the other boy just stopped him with another kiss. Draco could taste himself on Harry's tongue. It was…different, strange.

And he could have gotten used to it.

Fuck, he was going to miss this.

Harry seemed to sense it empathetically. "Just for the last time, Draco. I want this to be…right, if it'll be the last time."

Draco tried to smirk. "I always make it right." His heart just wasn't there, though. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Alright."

Harry's hand was rubbing Draco's lower spine slowly, dipping down the ridges and hollows still covered by his shirt. Draco held onto Harry's biceps, his head resting on the Gryffindor's half-buttoned chest.

"No sex either, Draco," Draco looked up at this, disappointed, but Harry continued, "Touching. Grabbing. Kissing, but no sex," he said firmly.

He nodded. Fine. He _had_ ended it with Harry so it was only natural that they played it by Harry's rules.

"Wanking?" he offered, hopeful.

Harry's green eyes narrowed and he smirked, a feral imitation of Draco's, but his teeth flashed and his grin was far more…intense. Draco could feel his heart speed up and his eyes widen.

"Of course!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Draco was dreaming again.

There was the same young girl and boy from his dream months before, so old and nearly forgotten.

They were both still flushed and radiant in each others' presence, still in love. They were still dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothing and it was still dark at night.

But they were in a stone building. Shadows pranced along rock walls, rusticated stone blurring them. It felt like a castle, old like Hogwarts, and yet not.

Draco was still an observer.

The boy, however, had an air of nervousness and of worry. He proffered a closed hand to the girl, something that had been inside his pocket. She unfurled his fingers slowly, suppressing a tight laugh. Then she gasped as it was revealed.

A silver necklace chain, with a claw clasp too big for the little green stone it held.

The girl giggled this time. "Where did you get this? Pray tell me!"

The boy smirked. Draco thought that it was a poor quality smirk because it wasn't very confident or meaningful. "And give away all my secrets?" he said in a haughty accent. They both laughed.

"Put it on me," she said breathlessly. Her bosom was heaving, like in those horrible robe-slasher romances his mother read all the time.

The boy complied, stepping around her. She lifted her hair, revealing a long, slim neck.

It seemed very familiar, but Draco couldn't place it.

The boy fiddled with the clasp for a moment. His hands weren't that clumsy nor were they paws, but they were shaking. "You like it then?"

The girl smiled. She was pretty when she did, her face lit up like a Lumos Spell in the dark. Her eyes didn't seem so pained nor did her mouth seem so hard. "Very much. It's the Slytherin colours."

The boy nodded. "Like you, yes. I'm glad you noticed."

So. This girl was a Slytherin. Were they both? Draco wasn't the one to have historical dreams, or prophetic dreams like his Great Aunt Araminta's youngest daughter did.

The girl just looked wistfully at the boy, sighing. "If only you and I were in the same house…"

Apparently not, then.

"He'd still be jealous of us."

There was a third party involved? Draco's dream self moved in closer. Was it him? Was he spying on them perhaps?

"I know. Sometimes I worry for him, Julian. I think he's lonely."

So, the boy's name was Julian. That was such a poncey name. It made Draco think of that play Pansy talked about all the time in fourth year, Roma and Julian or whatever.

"I don't. I worry for _us_. For you. The way he looks at you, darling. The way his eyes seem to devour you- it…it disgusts me!" The boy- Julian- was quite angered over this, his fists were clenched and his feet ready to spring into action.

The girl was angry too. She pushed Julian away roughly. "Stop that! He's only jealous because of what _we_ have, not of who _you_ have. He'll come around."

"I still cannot trust him. He is a sneaky rat. He gives me a bad disposition."

"If only he didn't know…" the girl sighed, hugging herself.

Julian pushed her arms away and pulled her into a tight embrace. "If only…" He kissed her, deeply. Draco could see their tongues touching and their mouths melding. This was no platonic gesture. "But we will always be together, I know that much. He smiled into her, his eyes on her neck. "Just like the spell, semper….semper…"

They both faded into the darkness and Draco woke up. He disentangled himself from Harry's sleeping form and began to search in the darkness for his clothes that had eventually all come off. The dream….it unnerved him. Why was he dreaming about these people? He didn't recognize them from any of the portraits at Malfoy Manor or at Hogwarts, so it couldn't be any dream invasive spell. It was like….like he was losing something, not controlling it.

He pulled his clothes on slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dark of Harry's bedroom. He wanted to relish the sight of the sleeping form on the bed, curled up into the spot Draco had been just moments earlier, half-obscured by the covers, but revealing too.

Lastly, Draco pulled on his cloak. He bent down, softly brushing a lock of dark hair that had fallen into Harry's eyes and that the sleeping boy's nose twitched at. He kissed the forehead with that famous scar sadly.

"I'm leaving, Harry, but I can't be sorry about it," he said in a whisper.

There was a tiny smile on Harry's face. Draco smiled back at it.

Then he left the room, not looking back at all.

**Author's Note:** I have my betas, Berne and Thalia, to thank for the work they have put into this chapter and the previous ones. Not only do they pick out the sludge I seem to add, but they make it better and better. Kudos to them!

Also, to those who have managed to stay with this story for this long, thank you! I realize this chapter was out very very late and I can only blame myself and my university. And my breakdowns. The next chapter should take far less than 5 months, I swear!


End file.
